


Legacy of One

by Salmon_Center



Series: Legion of One [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Explicit Language, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Character(s), Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 80
Words: 238,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Center/pseuds/Salmon_Center
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Where fallen stars are after images, never meant to return. But there is debt to be paid to Commander Alenko. And so here Shepard is: in the limelight and in the clutches of the Reaper War. </p><p>Set post-ME1 till end of ME2. Where nothing is as it should be for Shepard and Vakarian and that's okay. Eventual FemShep/Garrus. Slow, slow burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Welcome everyone to the Legion of One series. Although I've been writing for ten years now, I've actually never written something Sci-fi before this fanfiction. But I am hoping to bring something new to the Mass Effect fanfiction community, especially to all fans of FemShep/Garrus. I hope that if you wish for me to continue the story, you may leave a word (advice or just a nice little note to get me going). Although, the longer and the more constructive the review/comment, the happier I will be.
> 
> Be informed that this is an AU. And that Shepard's character here is influenced by a special past I've made for her. So she's not quite as- Shepard-like as she is in the series but you'll still see her shine. In this respect, expect that a lot of the dialogue has been changed (maybe some will remain verbatim).
> 
> Summary: AU, Shepard didn't care much for glory or fame. Only that what she was due was given to her in full. But an oversight in her part to thank Commander Alenko for saving the galaxy and doing her favors he didn't even mean to do, tips her silent world into the clutches of the Reaper War. Set from post-ME1 till the end of ME2. Eventual FemShep/Garrus.
> 
> Pairing/s: FemShep/Garrus, Alenko/Williams, mentions of Garrus/others and FemShep/others. POV for now has Alenko, but later, it will focus on Garrus and Shepard POVs only.
> 
> Warnings: Un-beta'ed (I've proofread, but expect regular updates to come with fixing up kinks), strong language, gore, death (and possible major character death) sexual situations/conversations, violence, expect a long and drawn story with minimal fluff- since I have to build the Shepard/Garrus friendship from scratch. Updates will be once or twice a week.
> 
> Shepard: Paragade (ish), Sole Survivor, Earthborn (with a twist), Infiltrator (a little like the N7 Shadow we see in multiplayer, ME3)
> 
> Disclaimer: The Mass Effect series is owned by Bioware and the company's fellows. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Prologue**

_2183\. 08. 12._

_Message Title: Let me return the favor_

_Dear Commander Alenko,_

_All of citadel space owes you their lives. But you've done me a favor of a more personal nature than you know. I'd like to thank you in person. A drink, maybe? Meet in Flux as soon as you're able._

_From,_

_A friend_

_P.S. If you feel threatened, you may bring your ground team. All of them, if you like. I owe them drinks too._

_P.P.S. If you bring your ground team, would prefer that Williams not be in it. But I know I have little hope of that happening. Just wanted it out there._

* * *

Unsure of what to make of the message, Commander Alenko stood in front of his terminal for a long, long while.

The message was different from most of the ones that ended up in his personal account. There was no sense of "awe" or "threat." And it was short and to the point. Though, the fact that the person knew about his ground team, knew about how often he brought Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, was disconcerting. If he told Ashley about this message, she would probably freak out and tell him to ignore it. He knew he was going to tell her anyway. But not alone. His ground team ought to accompany him, as the person said. And then maybe the whole team would freak out and tell him to ignore it.

Everything about it was something he would usually ignore. But he was curious and intrigued. There was no way he could just leave it be.

Declaring shore leave for the Normandy for the next week, his crew was dismissed save for his ground team whom he asked to gather near the elevator at the docks.

Williams gave him a knowing smirk. "Ready to cut loose, Commander?"

Alenko couldn't help but smile back. "There's that, Chief. But, there's something else more pressing." He forwarded the mail to their omni-tools. "Someone is buying us a drink."

"Though grudgingly in Williams's case." Garrus chuckled as he read. Williams sent him a glare.

"I don't know, Commander Alenko." Liara looked up from reading the message. "This could be a trap."

Tali shook her head, with a flurry of her fingers on her omni-tool. "I can't trace where the mail came from either, there might be an ambush set for us there. Flux is barely a hole in the wall with the destruction."

"Pretty public place for a trap too. Barely any good sniping vantage points since the Citadel crumbled." Garrus closed his omni-tool.

"I say, we go there and get our free drinks. And if it's a trap, we get a free fight." The whole party turned to Wrex, who just grinned back. "Tell me you guys aren't itching for a fight."

"It's only been a week since Saren, Wrex."

The krogan barked out, laughing. "Keep telling yourself that, Alenko. Pretty soon you'll be howling with the blood rage just like any krogan from all this—quiet. I say, we go to Flux and just use up this person's tab. And if the person is trouble, we kill 'em."

Alenko surveyed the faces of his team. Garrus stood at attention, doing none of the fidgeting that would tell the commander that he was ill at ease. Tali was still trying to desperately get more out of the mail than what was there. Liara just looked up at him with large, glowing eyes. Anticipating that whatever he would say next was another fascinating tidbit she could use to understand him better. Wrex was on the balls of his feet, jumping, either excited or gearing for a fight or both.

Of all of them, Williams was the most silent but the angriest. He could see it in how sharp her eyes looked just then, the same look she gave her enemies when she dared them to pull the trigger. They had grown close in this journey, and even closer before their trip to Ilos. But since the battle, their relationship was more up in the air than he would like. Despite the furtive glances and lingering touches they shared in between helping the alliance and keep the Normandy running.

"All right." Everyone snapped to attention at his words. "I've decided."

* * *

Garrus could barely believe that Alenko had actually defied Williams. Granted, that she hadn't voiced that she didn't want to meet with the mystery fan. But even with the funny way humans communicated signals to each other, even a turian like him could guess that narrowed eyes and flared nostrils was not an appeased expression.

Alenko appeared to take advantage of her silence and had told them to be on their guard, even if there was a spring in his step as they made their way down the elevator and into a rapid transit terminal to Flux.

Looking out the window made Garrus fidget, though. There was no space without debris: shattered pillars from some building or the panels or hulls from a ship. Though Garrus had to sigh with relief that the sea of dead bodies were gone, and there was some level of construction going on in the Presidium, even if he thought the wards needed more work than any other place. Some areas were still closed off since there were buildings that have collapsed entirely. In the air was the lingering scent of smoke and fire, Garrus couldn't get the smell away from his clothes for the life of him.

When they did get to Flux, the casino area had been blown off so there were two entrances: the official one and a backdoor hole. Alenko had said something about entering a house made of Swiss cheese that escaped Garrus, who just shrugged. However, the place was still alive. The owner had used the hole to expand the club further back, making it an open dance floor where the music blasted louder than ever. Inside, some of the space had been converted into a mini-casino with about three machines left functioning.

"Hi I'm—"

"Commander Alenko," the human by the door looked at them from above her long nose. Garrus and Tali exchanged confused looks. Weren't greeters supposed to be nice?

"Yes, that's—"

"This way." She swished her long black hair over her shoulder and began to walk inside. She didn't seem to care whether or not they were following. Determined to keep up, the group walked down the path between the bar and the rows of tables. The music was upbeat and furious, and despite the extra dancing space, Flux was packed. "The room that was reserved for you and your party is in our VIP wing." She brought out her omni-tool up and hit a few keys and the mechanism behind a seemingly innocent wall clicked and it slid open, revealing an elevator. Williams' jaw dropped open. Wrex looked like he was ready to buttheads in celebration.

The elevator led them down, slow as ever, and when the door slid open again it was like a completely different world from the rest of Flux. Upbeat music roared, the dance floor had clusters of people here and there but they weren't pressed as tightly as the floor upstairs. The lights were more predominantly blue and violet as opposed to the yellows and oranges. The seats were covered in high quality leather of the bovine found in Thessia. Dressed in the latest designs, the people drank and danced, detached and untouched from the battle that happened less than a week ago. Motioning them to follow her quickly, the greeter led them into a room where she had to punch another code for them to enter.

It was a club by itself inside the room. The capacity of which could have fit the two sets of the Normandy crew and then some. It had its own mini-bar, dance floor, and music system. There were also enough divans and tables for people to chat and drink. The music from the outside was completely blocked out when the doors slid shut. The greeter had mumbled something along the lines of "Leaving. Bye." before she was gone again.

Alenko wasted no time, he motioned for Tali and Garrus to check for bugs and they both nodded. Wrex just looked like somebody had given him a nest of pyjacks to kill and just sat casually on one of couches. Liara headed to the bar to survey the drink there, checking for signs of discoloration and maybe poison ("By the goddess, they have the plum wine from Thessia!"). Off the side, Alenko and Williams were sharing sharp and hissed words. Garrus barely needed to think to know what they were talking about.

Twenty minutes later, no bugs or poison found, the team heard the door ping open and they all trained their eyes to the door.

A human woman entered. She had long, straight and black hair—though, it shined red against the light— with bangs that covered her forehead. Her eyes were green, almond-shaped, and large. Her face seemed well-structured for a human woman, whose faces were usually rounder. However, hers seemed to have more angles. Apparently, it was a good thing with the way Alenko couldn't take his eyes off of her and the way Williams' was glaring at him for staring too long.

She took long, efficient strides and the door shut behind her. Garrus could tell immediately that she had formal training somewhere and kept herself in shape. Her armor was designed for agility and with little padding. The bodice of which was black, slimming an already thin waist with highlights of grey and white along the arms and the bottoms. Curiously, she had a weapon holster with what looked like a mid-length blade behind her back. Training with CQC? Martial arts?

"I hope I gave you enough time to scan the room," She looked at them with a small smile. Her voice was smooth and low. "And I have to apologize, the original greeter had passed away during the attack. Her replacement is not quite as pleasant."

How had she known the greeter was rude? Garrus looked at her through narrowed eyes. How long had she actually been around?

If she noticed him glaring at her, she didn't seem to care. "Now, I believe I owe all of you drinks."

* * *

Garrus had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. Save for that one time when his father had caught him role playing "Spectre kills the bad guy" by himself when he was 12.

However, this was far more suffocating than even that. The semi-circular couch was large enough to fit them all. In the middle of the semi-circle was a black marble table. The lady who had sent Alenko the mail had taken the seat at the very center, legs crossed with one hand on her lap and other on the drink. Alenko sat beside her, back completely straight and about an arm's length away from the woman. Williams' had decided to sit by Alenko's other side, keeping a glare so sharp that the woman should have dropped dead from it a thousand times over. Opposite Williams' was Wrex who had downed one Ryncol after another, blabbering about blood and violence with Liara beside him, giggling about nothing. Tali sat beside her, across Garrus, looking just as tense as he felt.

Spirits, he thought. Just end already.

"You don't want more than water, Mr. Vakarian?" His mandibles twitched at the name.

"Please. Mr. Vakarian is my father. Just Garrus is fine."

The woman gave him a small smile, her eyes lit up a little as well. "Garrus, then. A proper spirit?"

His eyes flashed. "Ah, what?"

"Oh, right. Turian. I meant, would you like a proper drink?" She flushed a little, her cool demeanor seemed to fade away instantly but she seemed no less alert than before. Despite that fact that she had probably drunk as much as Wrex had by now.

"Ah. Well." He cleared his throat. He shot Alenko a look and he all but nodded. "If you can tell us what this is all about. Then maybe I don't have to feel like drinking something would be draining some kind stranger's pockets—"

"Or feel that the drink would lead to your last?"

He chuckled, though with a touch of nervousness he didn't want to give away. "There is that."

She looked up from the table, fingers sliding along the surface of her glass and the sweat that had built up there. Her finger came up wet when she leaned her head on it a moment later. "As I know you've read— don't give me that confused look. I know the Commander showed it to all of you. Otherwise, Williams wouldn't be so ready to kill me. Anyway, Commander Alenko had done me a favor without knowing it."

"Other than saving the galaxy's ass." Wrex grumbled out.

"Of course. But this one is of a more personal nature. Thus, free flowing drinks." She shrugged. "That's all there is to it."

The commander had seemed to find his quad then and looked at her. "And all this cloak-and-dagger?"

"Just my MO," she said with a soft laugh. "I have my fair share of enemies. I don't want them to think we know each other. But I owed you one, and so I had to risk it.

"And you've done another favor for me, actually, which I just found out before arriving." She put a card down on the table. "If there is anything you need me for—the cloak-and-dagger stuff, as you said. Then you only need to ring me. I know there are things Alliance and Council brass will frown at. Spectre or no."

"What exactly did I do for you that you're willing to expose yourself to your enemies?"

She looked at Alenko, blank faced. "That is a personal question, Commander."

"I have no idea if you're a friendly or a hostile. Not even with this—debt paying."

She shrugged. "I can't give you the details, Commander. I'm sure you'll understand. But Saren was on a friend's shitlist for a long time. I'm sure you thought his death was a necessity but the fact that he had remained a Spectre for so long sickens me.

"Second, I've heard you've been cleaning up the dog house. Which is a feat, since they're littered all over the place like shit in a garden."

"I see. So you have some beef with Cerberus as well?"

"Old grudges are timeless." She gave him a smile with a flash of teeth. Her eyes lit up too. Garrus noted that it didn't seem entirely friendly by the way Alenko's eyes narrowed. "As a friend of mine used to point out a long time ago."

"Then, my last question."

"Shoot."

"Who exactly are you?" He picked up the card and looked over it. "It's not in your card."

There it was. The commander's habit of asking an infinite amount of questions, curiosity always insatiable—he always went for the one thing he shouldn't be asking about. They've been skirting around the woman's identity for a long time. Garrus had picked up what little she was willing to talk about. She was probably former military, Special Ops even. And if she had to make powerful friends, that meant she had powerful enemies. Cloak-and-dagger, if he was translating it right, meant she was probably a spy or an assassin. The latter seemed more likely, with the knife-edge glint in her eye.

Yet at point blank range, the Commander always asked the wrong question. It had gotten them into trouble many times, though they've always managed to patch it up with bullets and explosions. Garrus still thought it was a miracle that Alenko was able to talk Wrex into standing down in Virmire because, that shouldn't have ended so well judging by the Commander's track record. And he wasn't able to convince Richardson from activating the bomb before it was time—the poor man had wanted to make sure it went off no matter what, before they were overrun. Garrus still stared at the man's locker sometimes, wondering if things couldn't be different.

Alenko just lacked that special charisma, but his heart was always in the right place. Charming, maybe. Nothing Wrex or himself could outright respect though, at least not aloud. But even the Commander's willingness to work with aliens seemed another one of those things he was willing to do to make things easier, not because he thought of them as anything more than aliens that were useful.

"If you're asking for my name, Commander, then you've wasted a question. I've lost my name a long time ago." She downed her drink before she motioned for the on-duty bartender for some more. "Rest assured, we are on the same side."

"And you don't have a name you want people to call you by?"

"A friend of mine once said that my name was believed to be an omen. I've long since dropped it. But in my trade I'm called 'Rachel.' If you really want to put a name to the face, you may call me that."

The night went smoother after that. Rachel, as she wanted to be called, urged them to invite the rest of the Normandy over for the drinks. She was willing to spend any amount of money till the room they had reserved was no longer in rent.

When the crew arrived and the night turned slowly into day, Garrus shared a few conversations with Tali but kept a trained eye at their benefactor. She hadn't given them much to go by, but it seemed easy enough to put some trust on her, for now. And with the way she and the Commander were talking, Garrus was sure this was not the last he would hear of her.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

There were nights when she woke up not remembering whether she had dreamt or not. But those nights were rare and far between.

Now, she dreamt of Akuze.

She remembered her squad. All of them too young to die, but soldiers were built to accept death and understand it; taught how to hold a gun, how to throw a grenade. She remembered friends: Morris, Christina, Jason, Toombs. All of them all so worn, huddled together, guns pressed close, eyes bloodshot and empty.

The earth shook under them, she and a squad of 10, their commander all but screamed orders. No one was fast enough to follow them. Not even himself.

She remembered the enormity of the Thresher Maw. A tower of a monster as it rose from the ground, splitting the surface. With a violent screech, acid sprayed out of its mouth in a violent wave—it hit the commander first, his shield melting under it. His screams were his last orders as the Maw's jaws opened and took him in.

They lost five in the first attack. One mortally injured didn't survive the night.

So, the survivors marched, bloody and weak, taking the high ground. Morris, Christina, Jason, Toombs, and herself.

Before the night ended, bullets nearly gone, the Thresher Maw went down at last. Chain of command declared that she had to give the orders now. They waited for the shuttle to take them off-planetside.

Later, after it all, she told herself, soldiers were ready for death.

But in the dream she was all alone again, the bodies of friends gone or half eaten. Toombs had run off, somewhere, separated from the rest of the squad as the ground fractured and split. All of them, soldiers or not, she thought, they were all too young to die.

"Note the Terrain. Run. Attack. Run." She remembered her mentor's voice. She stood in front of him, no more than 12 years old, shivering in the cold. "These are tactics we use against forces larger than our own. All odds are against you: if you survive you remembered what I taught you—and more— and if you don't—" He looked away from her, then. "I'll know you did all you could.

"The Legion is ready for death."

She took the arms of her fallen. Grenades they couldn't use, clips she could load into her own rifle, the mines Morris had enjoyed tinkering with, guns she could carry without being slowed down. Note the terrain. Run. Attack. Run.

She remembered everything he taught her. But she wasn't ready to die.

The blow had been unexpectedly heavy for her, who'd lived alone for so long and had stayed alive to accomplish her missions and little else. Most nights she woke, screaming, as the dreams became more and more detailed, slowly catching up to the present date. She didn't think the death of someone she barely knew would affect her like this.

It had been a few days since it was announced that Commander Alenko had died while hunting down leftover Geth. It was a sour end for a hero, being spaced by an ambush ship. From there, everything Alenko had set out to prove and fix had been dismantled by choice and simple words: "Reapers don't exist. The threat is gone."

The funeral had been equally tasteless, unnecessarily public, and held in the Citadel instead of his birthplace of Vancouver. On a day where it was unnecessarily bright, they set up a coffin devoid of a body—surrounded by mostly strangers who didn't even know the Commander by name until his death. Powerful people stood at the podium, one after the other, talking about how much they knew him; how he was an asset, a true soldier: selfless, brave, powerful.

Mostly weeping, the surviving squad stood the closest to the coffin. Williams stood ramrod straight, taking a position in front of all of them. Her arms were folded behind her, the image of a perfect soldier, but her face was defeated and all the tears she couldn't pull back behind the mask slipped down her face. The rest of the Normandy wouldn't have known she was crying and that was probably all that kept them from bawling. Bar the pilot, Jeff Moreau, who shook his head, closed his eyes and cried without tears.

The rest of the ground team stood beside the Gunnery Chief. Liara T'soni wept in her hands, half-bawling and half-sobbing. Cooing and comforting, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya had an arm around the asari but even with the barrier of her suit her voice sounded broken and shaken. The turian, Garrus, stood straight as well, but with his head bowed and fingers clenching and unclenching. In the moments where he would look up at the coffin, his blue eyes would shut tightly and he would look down again. Wrex seemed the angriest; he had a feral quality to his eyes and a glare that all the politicians who stood at the podium wanted to avoid. The latter two hadn't been on the Normandy when it happened, but they had rushed over for this ceremony.

From where Rachel stood, a neighboring building with other onlookers, she had mourned with them too. After having bought the Normandy a night of drinks, she and the commander had exchanged mails. Information, mostly, about any sign of Reaper activity that she asked her contacts for in all the parts outside of Citadel space.

There were occasions when they'd met in the Citadel. Often, he brought one member of the ground team. Mostly Garrus, whose business manner was strained but acceptable. A few times he brought Liara but her scrutiny was always unwelcomed. Once, they met for dinner in the Citadel while the Normandy was on shore leave. Surprisingly, he came alone.

"No back-up today, Commander?" She leaned back on her seat and crossed her legs.

"I would have brought Garrus, the two of you get along well enough—but as you know, he's undergoing Spectre training." He sat down in front of her and ordered some food. Unmoving, she waited for him to put down his own order. She didn't flinch when he finally set his eyes on her. "Plus, I thought you'd appreciate that we be alone to talk business."

She chuckled. "As long as this is all it is, then yes." She didn't miss the small frown that crossed his features then. Disappointed that his good looks were worthless now?

Or a problem with the Gunnery Chief? She thought. Somehow, she wasn't surprised. The Chief was tightly spun, stubborn, and hotheaded. She knew what she wanted and when she wanted it. If Commander Alenko was it, she was going to fight every woman (or man) who wanted him. On the other hand, she wasn't going to make it easy for the man himself. She wanted to be won.

Difficult woman, Rachel thought, she should have left her Austen-type romance to fiction and not real life.

She gave none of her thoughts away and smoothly, Rachel handed him the datapad she had prepared. If he needed the harmless flirting to cheer himself up? Even as she bit back a hiss, Rachel needed to remember that _the_ Commander was still a man after all. She had no right to find his flaws upsetting. Petty, though. Definitely petty. "So far, there's been nothing. But, there have been reports from some of the merc bands and slaver rings that the Collectors have been more active lately. I haven't confirmed if it was just a coincidence but it's worth a look."

He shifted through the datapad even when his food came. "Collectors? I thought they were a myth."

She shook her head. "So did I. But, there must be some truth to this. If they aren't really Collectors then maybe some group who's been indoctrinated like Saren was."

He glared at her. "Should I ask how you know about—that, when none of it is public record yet?"

"I know people in good places and they help me stay alive. And," She reached for her Merlot, twirling the contents in her glass before she took a tiny sip. "I never take the Council's word on anything."

"Let me guess, something an old friend once told you?"

"No, something I learned on my own." He sighed at her reply and she gave him a small smile before standing. "I'll let you know when something new comes up, Commander. Until then—Look, I'm sure Williams is only worried about you."

"Oh—huh?" He snapped up from his datapad.

She shrugged. "You should try to look at it from her point of view, as skewed as I think that is."

He looked up, alarmed. "What are you saying, Rachel?"

She rolled her eyes. "Williams may act like she's made of steel, but she isn't. Maybe she just wants you to make the first move. Ask her on a date. Be more confident." She gave him a mock salute before he could say anything and made her way out of the restaurant. That was about a month ago, and the last time she saw him face-to-face.

Now, his body had probably disintegrated in some planet's atmo. It was a real damn shame, she thought. He was just too young to die the way he did.

As they lowered the coffin, an empty symbol that meant nothing to the people who mattered, she caught the eye of an old friend. She stopped herself from flinching when she figured he was looking straight at her and not in her general direction.

Councilor Anderson, probably one of the few people who managed to be a straight politician (as impossible as that sounded), a fine soldier, and one of those VIPs that mattered to Alenko—stood as any soldier did and in fine form despite the councilor attire. He nodded at her and motioned behind him with a tilt of his head.

He wanted to talk to her after this?

She gave him a small nod, unsure whether he saw it but she knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

But that was later, at the moment, the dead called to her.

When the ceremony reached its end with a row of concussive shots fired at the sky in unison, Rachel remembered that she was a soldier once too. That she had died her own symbolic and empty death. Thus, just like the soldier she had been once; she clicked her heels together and saluted in time with every officer and soldier at the ceremony.

* * *

"Shep—"

She put up a hand, signaling for him to stop. "I don't go by that name anymore, Councilor Anderson. I'm sure the brass has informed you."

"If I cared all that much about the brass, I would have had you arrested by now."

She smiled up at him then. A small enough smile that it didn't look so grotesque after the funeral of a hero. The Councilor had gotten them into one of the private lounges in a hotel, his escort stood outside the door. She had already disabled all the bugs and cameras his security had missed too. In all aspects, they were completely alone.

"I was just wondering," He unfolded his arms and put his hands on the armrests of his seat. "What a ghost was doing at the funeral of a soldier."

She shrugged. "There's no need to pretend, sir. I'm sure Admiral Hackett has informed you discreetly of some of my activities. Or at least, of the little I let him know."

He eventually nodded. "He worries about you."

"I know. Which is why I tell him anything at all." She looked away for a moment before facing Anderson again. "He feels obligated. He really shouldn't."

"He's the reason why you were ever in the Alliance, that you were given a second shot."

"He's the reason for many second shots. On both my end and his." She shook her head from side to side. "There's only so much room for disappointment, Councilor. He's the only reason why I worked for the Alliance for as long as I did: for good soldiers and leaders like him and yourself. Otherwise, the Alliance is just another playground for politics and intrigue."

He closed his eyes. "You were too young for the things they asked you to do. I don't blame you for leaving."

She wasn't sure how her smile came out then. Maybe just as distorted as she felt. "What is it that you really want, Councilor?"

Opening his eyes, he huffed. Then he laced his finger together and leaned down on his elbows. "The people upstairs are thinking of bringing you back, Shep—Rachel. The loss of Alenko has them reeling. There are people they need to take out to get back some respectable clout. They were thinking of nominating you as the next human Spectre even, but Hackett shot down that idea."

"And just right after they lost Alenko?" She hissed. "Typical. We're just fodder to them."

"I know you never completed the N7 program, Rachel," he paused—testing the name again. "But if you had stayed—hell, I would have nominated you myself for the work in Akuze. And for many other reasons. Not that you aren't already over-qualified. It makes me wonder what would have happened if things were different."

She had conversations like this with Hackett, over the years. Either through secure channels or once, a few years ago, in person—he always ended up talking about the past. Hackett's intervention had changed her life, but in a lot of ways she was unsure of whether she should have thanked him for it or hated him. The brass had high hopes for her then, and even when she had officially been honorably discharged they had to find some way for her to stay in the Alliance.

"You're thinking: if I had been different then maybe my life would be too? Face it, Councilor, I'm as much as a shadow as you are a soldier. You can't beat it out of me. Playing a marine was always going to be a temporary thing. And you're going to want to get your ass out of the big cushy chair soon enough and give it to that bastard Udina. Sadly, he doesn't make the galaxy a better place."

"Too true." He couldn't stop himself from smiling, even if it was a small one. "Hackett wanted me to tell you—like he had a feeling you would be around— about the brass' plans. For now, he's under surveillance—they know the two of you were close. He doesn't want them to find you. But since I was made Councilor, the Alliance isn't quite home anymore so I've lost that nagging, old helicopter mom. They won't trace you through me.

"Though I won't lie— I damn well miss being a soldier. Working with fine people, like Alenko and yourself, once."

She felt obligated to say she missed being a soldier too. But it wasn't what she felt, not really. She was no more suited to the field than she was at leading, despite what Hackett and her own mentor thought. "The marines suit you, sir." She said instead.

"As it does you."

"I barely miss it. And I doubt it misses me." She nodded when he started to stand. "But thank you for the warning. Give my regards to the Admiral. The fact that you knew I was in the Citadel seems dangerous enough. Tell him he won't reach me until I reach him."

"You think they'll find you because I did? I told you, they won't trace you. What are the chances—"

"People in my line of work don't take chances." She stood as well and nodded. "Besides, there's some business I have to deal with outside of the Citadel."

He frowned at her. "Rachel, as much as I wish Cerberus would spontaneously combust, your—vigilante activity is just going to get you in more trouble. Not to mention, the Admiral is getting old. I don't think his heart can take anymore news of the damage you deal."

"I'm sure his heart can take a few more of my risks." She folded her arms in front her chest. "And besides, even though the duty to destroy Cerberus is always on my mind, there is some other debt I have to repay. Council censored news, in fact."

It took a while for all of it to finally click in the former Captain's head but when it did, his eyes narrowed. "How much did Alenko tell you?"

"I was helping him out by investigating the Reapers. So, enough for you to disapprove, I'm sure." Anderson closed his eyes, probably trying to summon his patience. Likely, he didn't expect an obedient soldier like Alenko to turn to a shadow for help rather than official channels.

Crossing her arms, she leaned back. "I didn't come up with much that he didn't already uncover in Ilos. But I did get reports that Collectors have been sending out feelers. Nothing outright aggressive. Yet. We were in the middle of checking whether it was a coincidence, before the ambush."

"And you'll continue the search? This is rather contrary to the life you've been living so far, all this getting involved with possible intergalactic warfare. Being good." He crossed his arms too, mimicking her with the barest of grins. She just knew he was going to tell Hackett about it. The old man was probably going to cry his eyes out.

She shrugged. "Once I get the info I need, I'll be sure to give it to someone Alenko trusted. Someone who'll continue the fight. There isn't much else I should do, considering my record."

"You keep telling yourself that, kid." He walked towards the door. "But for now, keep your head low."

"Not a peep, Councilor." She nodded at his retreating back and waited for him to close the door behind him. When she heard his retreating footsteps, she sighed and moved to look out the window.

It was still bright outside, and peaceful. The reparations were still in full swing, but already the people were trying to return to normalcy: docility and stagnation. No one seemed to remember the bodies that had littered the lake or the buildings that were torn down.

She reached for her omni-tool and began typing up a few mails. There were favors she needed to call in before she closed her business down.

It was time to change her name again.

_Last updated, 02.24.2013: Fixed up lots of typos and clunky sentences. Also fixed occasional glitch in POV and dialogue / 05.2. 2014 Added some narration, fixed some pronoun confusion. Corrected spotted typos. Fixed dialogue. Restructured some awkward sentences. Lessened the length of paragraphs._


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains references that were featured in Mass Effect: Homeworlds, part 3 (A Bullet for your Sins). No need to read that to understand this but it helps. Not a novelization.

_Contains references that were featured in Mass Effect: Homeworlds, part 3 (A Bullet for your Sins). No need to read that to understand this but it helps. Not a novelization._

**Chapter 2**

Nothing was going right anymore.

In the time that he left the Normandy to pursue a Spectre career, Garrus Vakarian had thought that nothing could possibly go wrong. Sure, he had to prepare to fight the Reapers but that came with the perk of having to board the Normandy again, under Alenko's mentorship, maybe.

Instead, everything good had crumbled around him. And the lies were so skewed that it all came out as truth.

"… _Issued an official statement regarding the attack, commending the bravery of those first responders, and assuring the public the threat has passed…"_

Garrus slammed his drink down on the bar table at the redundant piece of Galactic news, earning him some crossed and curious stares. Alenko was not a perfect commander, by all means. In battle, Alenko didn't always make the most inspiring calls. He was by-the-book, and the signs of brilliance had never actually never been his own but were based on vids he studied when he was "in the villa" (the Special Ops HQ), made by past operatives, his most cited (and used) example had been tactics by the operative, Shepard, whom he thought had "retired too early."

When it came to making decisions too, sometimes the Commander yielded too easily. The perfect example was when he allowed Garrus to kill Dr. Saleon when he obviously disapproved. However, Alenko had understood the drive and motivation. Garrus knew it in the way Alenko had put his hand on his shoulder after the incident: sympathetic, sad.

But for all of Alenko's flaws, he was still a damn good man: loyal, determined, and kind. Maybe Garrus had been suspicious about whether or not he really liked his alien crew but as time passed Garrus realized it had been more like he was determined not to offend them by mistake. Alenko just tried too hard when he didn't have to.

Spirits, the Commander deserved more than what was being given to him after his death. From the council, from the Alliance, from the galaxy. But Garrus was determined that even if they no longer gave a pyjack's ass then he could do it alone. He could have asked the ground team too but their messages detailed that they weren't as available.

He kept in contact with Tali who had returned to the Flotilla with a handsome gift for her Pilgrimage, but she was on demand. On occasion he would send Liara a message but since the funeral, she hadn't replied to anything he sent. He and Wrex wouldn't have spoken at all if not for Alenko, but they've sent each other insults to keep the mood ("Krogan." "Turian." "Bird." "What the hell is a bird?" "I don't know, turian. But the humans find it hilarious. Must look as ugly as you." "Har har.") but even the Krogan had put his people first.

Garrus hadn't bothered with Williams, rather, he did type up messages but never sent them. They had gotten along grudgingly, as they were on the ground team the most together. Alenko's influence wasn't able to completely erase her distrust, but she had tried to be civil. They both did. It just seemed wrong to bother the girl when she was probably the most distraught, having lost the human equivalent of a mate.

But what about Garrus? All he had was a series of half-lives: C-Sec, Spectre, nothing really stuck. He thought the Normandy would be the one constant in his life but even that ship was nothing but debris in the Amada system, along with Alenko's real body.

There was his family in Palaven. However, Garrus barely spoke to his father, even if his nagging plagued him constantly. And with the two of them barely on speaking terms, he wasn't sure if he should return to Palaven to see his mother or his sister.

There was nothing but one disappointment after another. And when the Council and all of citadel space decided that even the Reapers didn't exist—there was nothing left for Garrus there either.

Packing what little possessions he had: his Mantis, a few mods, clothes, and armor. He reached over his arm and activated his omni-tool to send his sister, Sol, and Tali one last message before getting on the first ship to Omega.

* * *

"You're a real-life angel."

To his translator, it came out as a Spirit of Protection but the sound of it stuck. The looks on the old couple's faces: relief and gratitude, as far as he could read human expressions. Garrus didn't want to think about what kind of circumstances led them to Omega, of all places. Maybe they were like him, he thought, they didn't belong anywhere. Omega was the end of the line.

However, Omega was exactly what he needed. There was no red tape stopping him from doing his job. There was no one disillusioned by the idea of safety, even if they weren't afraid of the Reapers specifically. Garrus had a place here and a mission, Omega needed him as much as he needed Omega.

The crawl to the top was slow when you were only a two-man team, but as time passed, Archangel had grown from what it was. They had expanded enough that they needed their own base of operations, and in the short few months since it all began, they were now 12 men strong, including himself, a balanced team with enough military proficiency to get some real work done and get the mercs running scared.

"Garrus."

Sidonis nudged him on the shoulder before taking a seat beside him at the bar. Afterlife was probably packed full of crime but it was the one place he couldn't touch, not without Aria's permission anyway. Even Garrus wasn't so ambitious to cross her and she had been surprisingly accommodating towards all the work he had been doing. It took a subtlety not to anger her by accident and he thought she was grudgingly impressed with his ability to do so.

"Hm?"

"The rest of the group wants to move on to the upper floors. Where there's a little more room. Want to join us?"

Garrus finished his drink and called for another one. "I'll follow you later. The barkeep here knows what I like."

Sidonis nodded. "Butler is still down here too. Drunk dancing." Garrus chuckled and Sidonis shook his head. "Just pick him up before you head on upstairs."

He waved the group off before taking his time finishing another glass. He scanned the room out of habit before catching a good glimpse of Butler making a fool of himself. Nalah would kill them both when Garrus dropped him off later, he knew. But Garrus didn't have the heart to interrupt, he just looked so stupidly happy trying to climb on top of some of the girls and asari—literally, not maliciously. Maybe he should take some pictures on his omni-tool for Nalah.

"This isn't a place for a barefaced like you."

"And this isn't a place for a loser like you. But, here we are."

Despite the loud music, he managed to recognize the distinctive flanging voices of his own kind, speaking louder than was necessary. Turians had sharp senses and they didn't have to raise their voices as loudly as they did for other races, their sub-vocals were more than enough for them to understand each other. Turning his head, he spotted the commotion near the stairs to the second floor. A female turian with a hand on her slim hip, stood in front of another male flanked by a batarian and another turian.

If Garrus wasn't a bad turian to begin with, he probably would have been affected by her insult. But Garrus had long learned that that markings meant nothing—there were a lot of untrustworthy people, with or without the tattoos.

The other turian wasn't like Garrus, though. His eyes sharpened and his mandibles flared. When he lashed out, Garrus had his hand on his side arm, talon ready to pull the trigger. But the female moved faster, her own talons were sharp, piercing the other turian in the eyes so accurately that Garrus knew it was a practiced motion.

When the turian on point drew back, his sub-vocals had such a distressed sound that it made even Garrus's legs weak. The blinded turian had his hands on his eyes as blue blood poured down his face. The female wasn't moved by pity and she remained relentless. Her talons aimed again at a place where there was distinctly no plating, just under the armpit, piercing through it as easily as flesh, fingers deep. He fell down, dead.

The batarian didn't hesitate running away, just a thread short of screaming while he did it. The turian left alive struggled internally on whether or not his pride was worth his death. But at the sight of the female shaking off the blood from her talons and the way her head turned to look at him, he nodded and took off running as well.

"Oh god, Garrus, he's dead. You didn't glare him to death, did you?" Garrus knew Butler's voice was louder than it needed to be, even for a human. And, because it was, the female heard it and turned to them. "Garrus, is that a female turian? They actually _exist_?"

"Butler." He hissed back warningly. His hand tightened around his hidden sidearm as the female drew closer towards them.

His drunk teammate just laughed, his face was red enough that the lights of Afterlife just made it worse. Swaying on his feet, he leaned on Garrus to keep himself standing. "What? You all look alike to me. I just thought you were like the asari, just all male-looking. And gave birth like seahorses, but—with eggs. You do hatch from eggs, right?"

Spirits, Garrus held the man upright with one hand, before getting off his stool as the female stood just a few feet away from them. Her one hand, bloodied, was resting on her hip. Her mandibles flickered into what would be described as a haughty expression. The plating on her face had a light green quality to it which looked nice against the light beige color of her skin. He noticed more than ever how clean her face was without any of the colony markings and told himself not to stare too hard at the lack of them.

"Big mouth, even for a human," she said conversationally.

"Had a little too much to drink." Garrus mumbled. He searched his mind for some way to just excuse himself, tempting as it was to leave Butler to fend for himself. "Even when he hasn't had a drop it takes extreme force to keep his mouth shut."

She chuckled, her free hand reaching up to cover her mouth and mandibles. "Must be difficult."

"Comes with the job."

"Yeah! The job. Garrus here gave me a great job. Fighting the baddies. Making Omega a little brighter." Butler swayed out of his grip. Moving back and forth wildly. "Archangel. Man, that name just beats Batman—though it doesn't beat Dark Knight. Hey Garrus, maybe we should change our name from Archangel to—urgh!"

In the back of his mind, he could hear Commander Alenko's sarcastic "Smooth, Vakarian." He was only partly sorry for knocking Butler out and slinging him on his shoulder. "Humans. They don't know what they say sometimes. They just keep going and going with nonsense—"

"You're Archangel?" The way she whispered his name was almost—reverent. Her hands shot out and gripped his arms as she moved closer to study his face, to look into his eyes. Hers were green, a light sort of green which surprised him. He thought they were closer to black just a moment before.

"Well, this human has a mouth on him so you can't always listen to what he—"

"Are you? Please, don't lie."

He hesitated at first but she didn't budge or flinch from his gaze—he moved on to looking at their surroundings. When he'd determined that there really weren't many people paying attention to them, he gave her a small nod instead of voicing out a yes. Her mandibles twitched but unlike the dead turian, her expression changed to one of joy and not aggression.

"Please, I know your work. I know this is unorthodox, but let me join you. You know what I can do. I—Omega took everything away from me. Please."

He thought about it as methodically as possible. Grimacing at what Sidonis would think if he just let this complete stranger into the group—one who was barefaced too. Even if he wasn't sure if Sidonis cared much for that, Garrus was sure all turians held some kind of prejudice towards it. His father, especially, even if had confessed once that he tried to look past it— "Old grudges are timeless," he remembered someone saying. He also wasn't sure how letting her join now would affect the overall synergy of the group. What if she just made everything messy? Would he have to pay for that the hard way?

But the glow in her eyes didn't hide how worn her face was. She had probably lived in Omega all her life. And then suddenly, her world was taken away from her. He knew a little about that. He knew what it meant to be living a half-life, swinging from one bar to another, getting unnecessarily violent. While his world spun out of orbit, he allowed himself to lose control; there was just no one and nothing in the world that really needed him.

He pulled one arm away from her hold to steady it on the sleeping Butler leaning on his shoulder. His other arm remained, locked with hers. He strengthened his grip on her forearm, near her elbow—the turian form of a handshake. "Welcome to the team, Miss…?"

"Just Melanis." Her talons gripped him back in the same place, her eyes alight. "I'm glad to be part of the team. Thank you. Really."

In the five months since Archangel began, they were 13 men strong. For the rest of his life, Garrus could never forget the feeling of belonging somewhere. Stronger than even his loyalty to the Normandy and to Commander Alenko, the sense of purpose made him feel that maybe now, everything could be right again.

_Last updated,03.30.2014 Number changed due to split of Grundan and Krul. Noentheless, still keeping names separate. Cleaned sentences, typos.| 05.05.2014 Fixed spotted typos. Restructured some awkward sentences. Added sentences._


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the Chapter 4 will contain references to Mass Effect: Redemption. Very loosely though, so no need to read that to understand but it's worth a look. Standard disclaimers apply. Also, reference to how strange it was that there was a Prothean relic in a merc base—I mean, how? Really?
> 
> Enjoy!

_This chapter and the Chapter 4 will contain references to Mass Effect: Redemption. Very loosely though, so no need to read that to understand but it's worth a look. Standard disclaimers apply. Also, reference to how strange it was that there was a Prothean relic in a merc base—I mean, how? Really?_

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 3**

It was her mentor, Lor, who had discovered she had a knack for martial arts and subterfuge. Ironically, he had found out while she was playing with a blade he had specifically told her not to touch. He also realized that she had stolen it from his room while he was in it, without him noticing until he set out to find her in another room.

Lor was rarely impressed. Though, he had frowned at the theft of material possessions. Often he stated, "The theft of life, of Intelligence, is a far more complex undertaking. Humans focus too much on the things they can hold." He wanted her to learn the art of stealth and martial arts and despite being against teaching her anything about himself and his life; he had ended up bequeathing to her the very best of him: his skills and his knowledge.

She supposed that was why, even after all the things she'd seen and done; she couldn't just leave the cloak and live a normal life.

So, despite the legalities (and the illegalities) of it, she had set up a business for her gift. Assuming a different name and gender, sometimes completely faceless—this was how Rachel managed to be in different places at the same time. All her agents worked under her flag, and all her agents were her. She was Rachel—Rächer, the avenger, though alien clients barely cared for what the word in German meant. They only cared about the results.

She had assumed different names over the years— Alice, Kleine, Mistra, Belladonna—but a reputation could be a dangerous thing too, even a good one. But Rächer had been the longest and most expansive in terms of Intel, spanning nearly a year's worth of toil. She had the system built and running, moving like any well-oiled 20th century machine.

When she had to bring it down, months of steady pay and contacts came to a crashing halt. If she had to die another death to live, then it could be done. She just wished her sacrifices could be paid with less violence.

Of course, she didn't lose everything. Only the very loyal of her contacts knew she was alive. For the four months since she'd been told to lay low, moving from planet to planet, shutting facilities under the banner of her business down, one by one—it was time to get back up to speed again. Only this time, a different name had to be used.

So, at the most pivotal moment of her resurrection, when she needed to be calling in favors and setting up shop, the last person she ever thought she'd end up working for was one Liara T'soni.

"Something tells me there's a long story involved with this." Rachel took a seat in front of the information broker's desk when the asari motioned towards it. "You're the last one I'd expect on this side of the fence, T'soni."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Rachel." She laced her fingers together. Her smile looked sweet but there was something cold and hard behind her eyes. Rachel was sure that glint wasn't there before. She had been privy to, at least through reports, of the Doctor's naiveté. Now, the asari was just like everyone else she knew: old and jaded. "But I hear you need to know something."

Rachel nodded. "There is a rumor flying around. I may have retreated from the forefront but even I hear things. I need to know if one thing in particular is true."

"What's true?"

"That Commander Alenko isn't dead at all."

There was the barest of flinches but it was there. Liara may have been over a century old but she was new to the business. "I'll tell you what I know after the job. You're used to trading information for chores, right?"

"Of course."

"I'll assign you a team then."

"I don't work with a team."

Liara shook her head, no. "It's a necessary precaution."

Rachel just took it in stride. "Look, I don't know what Barns told you about me. But the bottom line is this: I get things done. But, I work alone."

The former doctor's eyes narrowed. "You can't possibly think that you can hit a mercenary base alone. And what if something happens to you, or worse, the mercenaries manage to move the cargo out before anyone can help? No, you go in with a team."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Then set me up as a detachment."

T'soni's lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. "If we lose this cargo, so goddess help me—"

"I'm not that desperate for the Intel, T'soni. There are other ways for me to get it. Longer ways, but they exist. By the tone you're using on me, it sounds like you need me more than you like to admit. If you insist on being extra careful, set me up as a detachment or I walk."

It took the doctor a while to think about it and her glare was a formidable one for an asari maiden. But when she opened her omni-tool to talk to her hired thugs, Rachel just sat back with a smile.

* * *

Breaching a mercenary base, Blue Suns even, was a simple task, one she could do alone and silently. But Liara had insisted to her that it was protocol that she bring a team, that there was no reason not to take every precaution. After all, the technology they were about to retrieve was something intergalactic worthy, something the Blue Suns were never supposed to have in the first place.

How Prothean Ruins had ever ended up with a merc group was beyond understanding. But Rachel thought that worse things could happen. It could have ended up with the Alliance or the Council and she knew how that always worked out.

The team entered the base noisily, artlessly. And she followed in sedately after them, setting up vantage points as lookout and sniper. It wasn't something that was particularly difficult, but having to comm in so often grated her nerves. At least someone else was doling out the orders. All of them too determined to seem impressive when they actually got nothing done.

When they'd cleared the base (a time she could have cut in half had she went in by herself), the team leader, a large man who looked even larger with the way he stuck out his chest, opened the channel to the former scientist. "The ruin is secured, ma'am."

"Approach it with caution, Cedric." She answered a little choppily, the signal got worse and worse as they progressed deeper into the base. "I don't want it to be activated by accident. The extraction team will be there soon."

"Copy that, ma'am." He signaled his team to look around, staying clear of the ruin. Rachel herself looked through some of the datapads. Activating her graybox, the light came over her eyes as she took framed shots of the information. It was a modification of the original series. Something that she needed to use to keep all the delicate information she had in a single secure location. It had its limits though, storing only data and not long clips of memory, greatly reducing the possibility of brain damage in case of a virus or a really bad fall. T'soni had told her that whatever else she found there would be hers as well so long as the ruin could be safely excavated. That suited Rachel just fine. She had a friend who would appreciate the Blue Suns' shipment schedules and location of delicate cargo.

"Fuck, Lorence, get away from there!"

Rachel snapped out of her reading, shutting the graybox and dropping the datapad. She turned to the rest of the team. Lorence, with his hand stretched out, approached the ruin as if in a trance, activating it in a flash of blue lights and the reeling sound of a powerful machine.

She remembered Christina, her curious gray eyes, and her small face. Christina thought too much sometimes, wanted to know a lot of things. She had hoped to make it into the N7 after the job in Akuze, but she wasn't in it to be a hero. She just wanted to make sure her grandmother was well-fed and well-cared for with what money she could send her. Christina's grandmother who took care of her when her own parents, soldiers too, died in the First Contact War. Rachel was the only one left alive, and she had been the only one left to see to it that Christina's grandmother wouldn't want for anything—

Except for Christina. But there was nothing more Rachel could do to retrieve the fractured corpse from the bowels of a Thresher Maw. Even money couldn't raise the dead.

She ran before thinking, pulling Lorence out of the way. As stupid as he was, he must have family somewhere who would miss him when he was gone. Rachel's conscience was clear, and the people she took care of, the families of her first team, would inherit a lot of money upon her passing.

The light took her in and she heard her own scream echoing against the walls of the base.

Then, nothing.

* * *

It was another dream. However this time, it wasn't one she recognized.

The world she witnessed was at its end. It stank of death, sounds—a language she couldn't speak or know. Screaming. A bright light that took out thousands. Fire.

She awoke with a gasp.

"Rachel?" She heard someone sigh and turned to face the only other person in the room. Liara walked up to her, wringing her hands. It looked like they were in someone's private clinic. The lights were white and the walls sterile. "Thank the goddess, you're all right. There was some fear about the graybox implant. Do you know who I am?"

"Liara—T'soni. Part of Alenko's ground team. Former doctor. Now, an information broker. A weird fit." Rachel reached for her head, her vision spun. "A little saddening."

A tender look took over the asari's face before she could stop it. But just as easily, she hid the look again with one of confusion. "Ah—your speech pattern was a little odd. Can you repeat after me?"

Rachel blinked. "Ah, I'm sorry. It's a habit. Go ahead."

T'soni nodded and started with long sentences that didn't make much sense to Rachel. But she repeated them flawlessly and without slurring. The former doctor opened her omni-tool to go over her vital signs as well. Nodding, she settled down on a chair by the bed when they finished all the tests. Eyes a little large, Rachel recognized fascination when she saw it.

"Do you always talk to yourself like that? It sounded almost—salarian."

"The salarian speech patterns lack the usual flair of long sounds. Keeps me focused. I do speak in longer sentences than some. And others just talk without end, contrary to salarian efficiency." Rachel shook her head, trying to get rid of the fuzziness that lingered. "What happened?"

"The ruin got activated. It did something to you so we checked your brain activity. It's the same patterns I've noted when the Commander—" She cut off her whispering and turned away. "When the Commander touched the beacon in Eden Prime, only yours was for shorter intervals and on a smaller scale."

"Alenko told me a bit about that." Rached closed her eyes. "That would explain the strange dream then."

"Yes," Liara reached for her hand, holding it too tightly. The closeness made Rachel nervous. "It's a warning from the Protheans. I could explain it to you. Or, I can also show it to you and you could make more sense of it but," She hesitated, fidgeting. "You would have to let me into your mind. And I know someone like you would have a hundred secrets no one should know."

Rachel opened her eyes. "Would explaining it to me be as efficient?"

Liara shook her head, no. "The vision is complex, with a language that doesn't exist anymore. It's a wonder that direct contact didn't make you go insane. It's understandable with the Commander, since he's a biotic. But even his headaches grew progressively worse. But you—you must have a powerful will."

"That's just a polite way of calling me stubborn."

That earned her a small laugh. However, Liara sobered quickly, a small frown marred her face. Rachel shook her head. "Listen, doctor, you're definitely right. I know a lot of things, sensitive things. I have the kind of information that gets people killed. It will seem like a treasure trove for you, a new information broker trying to gain some reputation in this world. But if you ever sell anything you learn from me and they find out who you are and how you got it—Doctor, I wouldn't want to do it but I will have to kill you before they find me. Do you understand?"

She bristled at Rachel's words. "If you're saying you can take me down—"

"I can. And I will." Rachel returned the hold on her hands with a vice grip. "I didn't say you would make it easy. You can give me what you know, but I really won't like it."

"I don't want to invade your mind if you're so unwilling."

"But the vision will always be just nonsense otherwise, right?"

"Yes. Not unless you can find another Prothean ruin or technology with enough power and information to encrypt it for you."

Rachel sighed. "Doctor, even I want to know what demons are after me or if they are demons at all." She loosened her hold when a look of pain started to crack through the asari's face. Rachel tried to smile as an apology, but she doubted it came out right. "But there are reasons why I live the life I do now. You can't tell anyone what you've learned from me. And if you do, I will know.

"But I trust you enough, maybe not the same way Alenko did but we've barely met. If we can settle into a comfortable truce and work together after this, if we can keep each other's secrets, I'm sure the Commander would be proud of us both."

A little of what Rachel remembered of the young asari finally showed on her face. Bright and young. She smiled a little wider before nodding. They allowed the silence to stretch long enough before they looked into each other's eyes.

"Are you ready, Rachel?"

"Whenever you are, doctor."

_Embrace eternity._

* * *

In the two months that she worked for Liara, her new organization actually consisted of real operatives rather than fictional ones. The system was built so much more extensively than before that even if the Alliance tried to search under every rock in the galaxy; they would be chasing one lead after another without end. So far, they didn't have an official name but, that could come later.

In return, Rachel introduced Liara to the few contacts she had left standing. She taught her the way to talk, how to act. What to watch out for, who was likely to betray her and who was likely to fall in line. It was an unlikely symbiotic relationship. And the longest one she'd ever had in the years that she dedicated to being a shadow. They were almost partners and almost friends.

So, even Rachel was sad to see it end.

"What happened to Commander Alenko?"

"You've been patient." Liara sat behind her desk, hands clasped together atop it. "I was wondering when you were going to ask again."

Rachel shrugged. "You don't survive this long in the business without having a sense for trouble. Whatever you're about to tell me, I knew I wouldn't like it."

Liara gave her a sad, small smile. "You're right. You did say you wanted to know your own demons."

"Tell me then."

Liara sighed. "The Commander—he's being," Her eyes shifted. "Rebuilt." She handed her a datapad from one of her desk drawers. "The details are there but the gist of it is that he's neither dead nor alive now. As you expected, the Collectors seemed to be involved. When I was there, it seemed like they had some connection to the Reapers but there was no evidence. And—"

"Cerberus." Rachel glared up from the pad. "You gave the Commander up to the dogs?"

Liara's back straightened. "I—"

"You personally handed Alenko to them? You, of all people, who saw for herself what they did to Toombs? You know how much time and resources I've dedicated to stopping them. The projects I've stopped: Moses, Ra, Odysseus, Alexander. The extent of the Illusive Man's ambition is as great as it is ruthless. You actually entrusted the Commander to him?" She slammed the datapad on the table. Standing, she began to pace like a caged animal.

"Rachel, the galaxy needs the Commander. No price is too high for this."

"You're putting too much on one man's shoulders. This shouldn't be just Alenko's problem. This is wrong, T'soni. You—"

It was Liara's turn to stand, biotics flaring. "I did what I could for the Commander. Not for Cerberus. Don't tell me I was wrong because I wanted my friend back!"

"Alenko's just one man. An ordinary man pressed to do extraordinary things. You can't just thrust him into these circumstances and not expect him to just get out of it unscathed!"

"Just because you didn't?"

Rachel stopped her pacing. "What was that?"

Liara looked guilty for a fragment before she steeled herself. "You couldn't handle the pressure."

"You—"

"I didn't see it all but I saw enough. The horrible things they made you do. It would destroy anyone. So you ran and here you are. The child—no, I know you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry." Liara's voice shook, her biotics dimming slightly. "But the Commander isn't like that. He isn't going to run. If anyone can save the galaxy, he can. I know it. And you think so too, don't you?"

Rachel forced her eyes shut, mentally shifting through the memories of the Prothean ruin in her mind to keep her old memories at bay. It was a warning about the Reapers for the next cycle. A mass extinction of all sentient life, worse than anything apocalyptic fiction could think of because it happened over and over again, without fail. But for what reason? There were no records.

Yet the galaxy thought one man could change all of this and they pinned him with all the empty symbolism, gave him all the grunt work, and for what?

One man for the galaxy. If Rachel could save this one man's soul, would the entire galaxy burn the way the Protheans did? It would. Did she care? Not enough, only barely. But was that right? No, it wasn't. She couldn't be that selfish, even if she tried.

She didn't spare Liara a look or a reply. Making her way up the stairs, she walked into the room she had been living in for the past couple of months. Unzipping the old bag she'd been using for years, she loaded everything she owned. She sheathed the blade she was sharpening the night before and strapped the holster around her hips. She left no trace that she had ever lived there, scanning the room with her omni-tool for anything she might have left, even a strand of hair.

When she walked down the stairs and towards the door, Liara was waiting for her, close to tears.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked, wringing her hands. She was the nervous young girl again, the asari who worshiped the Commander's speech and stride. Was that only a few months ago? Rachel could hardly believe it.

"I don't know."

"I'll keep all your channels open. It'll keep your enemies away."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

Rachel walked beside her, close enough to the door that it slid open, waiting for her to cross. "You don't have to feel obligated. We've repaid each other enough."

"No. The things you did for me. The things you taught me. It might have taken me another hundred years to learn them all."

"That was barely anything."

"No, it was everything." Liara reached forward but stopped herself when Rachel didn't even bother to turn to look at her. She was probably crying now, Rachel thought, but she couldn't be bothered. "What will you do?"

"Preparation." Rachel closed her eyes. "If the Commander is coming back, no—when the Commander comes back—I'll be sure the stage is at least half ready for him. It's the least I could do."

"Shepard, I—"

The use of her old name stung. Especially when the asari knew that she didn't like being called it. But T'soni was grasping at straws here, probably tried to cling to whatever sentiment Rachel felt for her name. Capitalize the weaknesses of her enemies, use their emotions against them. That's what Rachel had taught her.

Maybe the doctor didn't mean to be so malicious, only trying to hold on to their fragile friendship—maybe, she just didn't want to be alone. It was something Rachel could understand. But even that didn't move her enough to show mercy.

When Rachel stepped out, the doors slid closed immediately behind her. She didn't look back.

_Last Updated. 04.1.2014 Clean up. | 05.05.2014 Fixed a few kinks, corrected spotted typos, removed information that they wouldn't have known at this point of the story. General clean-up._


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to the Omega DLC. If you don't know anything about that, there is the very beautiful YouTube. :)

C

_This chapter contains references to the Omega DLC. If you don't know anything about that, there is the very beautiful YouTube. :)_

**Chapter 4**

She reviewed the datapad a few more times. Snapping out the most important bits into her graybox, and when she was satisfied she disposed the datapad for good. Despite Liara's minor betrayal, it paled in comparison to the direction the fight against the Reapers was likely to go on.

There might be a connection between the Reapers and the Collectors, after all. With Collector's personal interest in the Commander's body, using the Shadow Broker of all people to retrieve it from Alchera—it seemed like the Collector's involvement was malicious.

This was cemented further when a contact sent her news about all the people from a colony disappearing. No signs of a firefight or struggle: a ghost town in an instant, only at a larger and scarier scale. She didn't want to think about how that was possible. Abducting whole colonies meant dreadnoughts of massive scale—but for some reason nothing was caught on radar.

Reapers? Collectors? Both? Were they capable of doing something like that? Whoever it was would be an enemy bigger than herself, bigger than even the resurrected Alenko. In other words, it was not something she was willing to rush into. She could go to the empty colony herself, find out what hit them. But that would take too much time and resources. And even if she found the culprit, could she take them down on her own?

No, was the answer. As much as she wanted to save as many people as she could, there was a difference between a calculated risk and a stupid one. She would have to wait, gather information, prepare. There was a time for everything and Rachel had always been patient. She would need to do what she could until Alenko came back. The first plan was to gather allies—stamp her down her motto to work alone— and she should stick with that. And, since she hadn't actually touched official channels in a long time, it was best to walk the dark path for starters.

When she reached Omega, entered its rotting door frame and took a whiff of its rotting core, she felt like she was coming back home. Omega was similar to the best friend you didn't talk about or the aunt you didn't want to admit being related to. She loved Omega and she hated it too. Having spent a good year in the cesspool, she'd met and reunited with the best people and destroyed the worst she'd encountered.

Sneaking into the second floor of Afterlife, despite the heavy security, was easy enough as well. The place had too many shadows to slink into. Anto, when she passed one of Aria's old batarian sentries, looked about ready to doze off even with all the music.

She deliberately stood in front of Aria T'Loak for as long as she could, hidden behind the darkness before the asari's eyes narrowed, staring directly at her. All the guards blinked, minds processing that someone had entered their boss's sanctum, before pulling out their guns. Aria's hand was up before any of them could shoot.

"When did you arrive?" The queen of Omega looked equally pleased and angry at once. Rachel took that as an invitation to take her seat.

"Long enough that you should be ashamed." She crossed her own legs, hands on her lap.

"Hah. You're lucky I'm somewhat fond of you, Rachel. You'd be dead otherwise."

"And miss out on all the presents I give you?" She pulled out a new datapad with the Blue Sun's information saved on it. "Admit it, you'll mourn my passing."

Aria snatched the datapad, and scanned the contents briskly. "I will for a whole minute before I ask Anto to piss on your grave. That's if I feel like it."

"That's more time than you'll give anyone else. I'd say I'm pleased but that isn't true."

Aria waved her hand and ordered a drink for herself and Rachel, a krogan scrambled to get it. "Hm. The Blue Suns are getting riled up. Keeping their cargo safer than usual. Stupid really."

"And I thought it was weird that the Blue Suns were delivering their goods in a roundabout way. Did someone else take up my cleaning duties?"

Aria T'loak gave her one of her more feral smiles. She was one of those loyal contacts Rachel still had, but one of the few she didn't tell Liara about. She doubted anyone else was willing to trust the Queen of Omega. But Aria was a kindred soul, equally devious and calculating but more parts selfish than selfless—the year Rachel had spent in Omega back in 2179 had been wave after torturous wave of trying to get along and trying to not like each other.

Smiling, Rachel had remembered all the times she had been hired by Aria herself to give her resident mercs some trouble and disappear just as fast. But the time they spent gauging each other's abilities had turned into respect and trust (warped, as it was). Aria had at one point admitted that Rachel was like a wretched bastard daughter to her, but had warned her in the same breath that if she ever fucked with Omega she would tear her into confetti. In turn, Rachel knew Aria would always put Omega first. That made her predictable. Ironically, that made her safe.

"Unofficially. And he's doing it for free."

"Vigilante?"

"Of a fashion."

"Former military or C-Sec?"

"Both."

"Ah, a turian." The krogan handed her the drink. She never really found out the name, but it was usually especially made just for Aria. In other words, it was the only drink in Afterlife that didn't taste like piss. "A huge ego for a turian. Nyreen was proud but she—"

"Let's not talk about her."

Rachel scoffed. "Aren't you too old to play the unspeakable card?"

"She's been off radar. Or rather, I hadn't bothered to keep tabs. It would be best to let it go than think about what she's doing."

"Pity. I really liked her. Maybe I'll look for her."

"Be my guest. Just don't get me involved."

Rachel nodded. So it was still a touchy subject. Then again, there wasn't a lot of Aria's old staff other than Anto and Grizz. They were probably dead, or worse. "So, the turian?"

Aria's face was blank. But she did turn to face Rachel and she met her eyes. "He's the boss. He has a whole squad."

"He must be annoying."

"No," Rachel raised an eyebrow at that while sipping from her drink. Aria's impassive expression didn't change. "Polite kid. Always asks for permission when his plan is especially detrimental. In return, I don't say a thing about it until it's over." She flashed Rachel a smile before it vanished. "You'd hate him."

"Are you telling me to see him?"

Aria actually chuckled. "If he gets too carried away, the merc bands around here will be clamoring for his blood. He isn't quite like you. His name is all over the place. He leaves a few deep cuts here and there but it heals up eventually and leaves a scar they can boast about when they finally kill him.

"But you, you leave a gaping wound they don't realize they even have before they're dead. You've rolled with the best. Your name—any of them— is just a myth. Especially since you closed shop a few months ago, starting from scratch must be a real chore."

"So, you're asking me to teach him how it's done?"

"I'm asking you to tell him to watch his turian ass because when he dies Omega will be the same old thing. Plus, I give your business a little kick start. That's what you wanted, I'm sure. Petty little info broker probably paid you pebbles for your good work."

"It's peanuts."

"And I care for human expressions."

Rachel shook her head, taking another sip from her drink. It may have tasted decent but it still burned when it went down her throat. "If I babysat for you, I'd have to make myself a temporary name. I'd use the name I have now but I really don't want to go back into hiding after this is all over. And officially, you'd tell people that I'm your agent."

"Not untrue. You've always worked for me."

"No, I've always worked for myself."

"Semantics." She took Rachel's half-empty glass, tipping the last of the contents down her own throat before the same krogan ran up toward them to get it. She shooed him away. "And what do you want in exchange?"

"Your loyalty. You've heard of the Collectors? They have some connection to a stronger force—it's the kind of galactic thing you'd hate to even think about."

"Loyalty. It will be very hard to give you even that." Aria scoffed. "Sounds like a pitiful offer. Are your services worth the sacrifice?"

"It's a galactic threat. Worse, it's a threat to Omega. I'm giving you the support you need to be prepared and in exchange, you get to pick my name and I coo at your turian. Tell me that doesn't get you going."

Aria gave her a look so incredulous before she started laughing. It surprised her and the guards standing nearby. Even Anto perked up, gun at ready, asking if they had to kill someone today.

"What's so funny?"

The asari just laughed more. "Rachel, you really are that bastard daughter I should have had. You got yourself a deal." She flashed a smile. "Now," She said more to herself. "What name should you go by?"

* * *

After Sidonis had told him about how this ambush was supposed to be easy, it really wasn't playing out so well.

Garrus had to bite back the curse when the Eclipse mercs predicted that their Beta team, led by Sidonis, had set-up an ambush and they took a detour. They were being especially cautious now that two of their best men were out of the picture. Garrus had killed them just two weeks ago and if Intel was right, one was the leader's, Jaroth's, brother.

He'd feel bad about it. But then he thought of all the brothers the Eclipse had killed themselves, how much of their merchandise had led to their deaths. How much red sand have they smuggled that led people astray. No, there was no reason to feel remotely guilty. The bastards deserved everything they hit them with.

The cargo was heading to the next checkpoint where he and four other team members were waiting in one of the empty buildings. A precaution he was glad he took. He told Beta team to move. They'd flank them and take the goods, mostly stolen technology and crates of red sand.

Still, Garrus thought, he would have opted to wait a little longer for more Intel. But the opportunity looked like gold. Wary, he told the team that they had to leap at it, just so they wouldn't regret not striking.

"Krul," He said over the comm. "Are you ready?"

The salarian explosives expert made an affirmative sound through his earpiece. He was set up as a detachment on lower ground, with a better view of the buildings in the vicinity. "At your signal, boss."

Garrus looked over at the other members of his team that was with him. Butler, Melanis, Grundan, and Ripper. "Take your positions. Aim and fire at my signal. Beta team is heading up here, as well."

He heard a round of "Aye, sir" through his comm. Each one crouched down and made their way to their assigned firing positions. The team Sidonis was leading had said the ETA of the land-based cargo shuttle was about 15 minutes.

"Boss—" Krul's voice crackled through the comm. "We have a situation. Cargo shuttle has disappeared from the radar."

"Is that confirmed?"

"Likely scenario: shuttle was a decoy. Your location might be compromised. I say again, location might be compromised."

"Eclipse incoming!" Ripper warned. Garrus hissed.

Krul's voice crackled through the comm. "Confirmed, boss. Shuttle was a decoy. Mechs and men are dropping near your location. They're setting up turrets. Difficult to aim from your line of fire. Confirmed, you're compromised. Get out _now_."

"No can do. Already engaging a wave of enemies." Garrus growled. On cue, a team moved up the road and began shooting at them. He signaled his team to return fire. "Krul, activate the bomb."

"Negative, boss. They've deactivated my remote signals. Deduced that they have jammers. We'll have to activate the bomb manually, too risky." There was the sound of gunfire in the background. "I'm relocating to a more secure position."

"Loud and clear, Krul. Erash, patch me through Beta team."

The batarian tech, tucked away and far from the firefight at their HQ, responded with a lot of static. "Sigl—com—can't- rea—Beta—alre—tried—"

"That can't be good." Butler muttered, shooting blindly from cover. A decision Garrus wouldn't have approved of if there weren't so many turrets honed on him.

"One turret down." Grundan ducked down to reload. Butler moved up from cover, aiming his scope and dropping one, then two mechs. "I only have a few clips left. Grenade count zero."

"Some of us will need to fall back." Garrus surveyed the field. "We still have a superior position, but if the enemy knows we're here then it's only a matter of time till we're flanked. Ripper, aim at those turrets."

"Aye, sir." The man let out a wave of cusses before throwing a grenade. It took down two in one go.

"Beta team?" Butler asked, under cover.

"We don't know if they'll make it in time. And we didn't bring the resources to last for a long fight." Garrus activated his comm, making sure everyone in his team could hear him over the gunfire. "Melanis, Grundan. Cover the stairs behind us. We need that path cleared."

"Aye."

"Roger that."

They both moved out the door and into their positions.

This was the closest call they'd have so far. Operations usually ended quickly and in their favor. As he thought, a few units had made it inside and he heard Melanis and Grundan returning fire from beyond the door. When did the mercs suddenly get so smart?

"Boss, snipers sighted. They're setting up on the choke point for Beta teams arrival. Your two. High up." Krul's voiced cracked through.

"Erash, is the channel fixed?"

"Ca—"

"I take that as a no." Butler mumbled through the comm.

Garrus shot down a few more incoming enemies. "Can you take them down, Krul?"

"Not without exposing myself. Enemies in all sides. I'm willing to—"

"Negative, Krul. Stand by." Garrus said quickly. He aimed his sights and took enemies down, one after another. Despite the situation, he kept at his breathing and his aim. Butler whistled, impressed.

"Boss, something is happening to the sniper squad. There's only one—"

On cue, a bullet from the east took down a salarian Eclipse member. And a second, then a third in quick succession. The mercs looked up at the direction, clearly alarmed. An amateur? Hardly, with the number of headshots the person was making. The Eclipse mercs, realizing that they were now being flanked by a rogue in their own uniform, began falling back—

Right into a waiting trap as the explosives Krul had set up was activated. There were several screams, and stragglers that Garrus and his team took down before they could become a problem.

"Krul, did you get those back online?"

"Negative. Probably the rogue. Can't say I don't like it. He's no longer on the roof." A pause. "Ah, Beta team shuttle incoming. Rendezvous at original LZ in ten?"

"Agreed. We'll be picky when the call isn't so close." Garrus said through the comm. He put his rifle up and took aim. "Let's finish this."

* * *

Back in the shuttle, Ripper threw off his helmet and plunked down on his seat. He had been relatively quiet throughout the operation. Usually, he'd be laughing gleefully as he took down men. "That was too fucking close, boss."

"That," Melanis remained standing with a hand on her hip. "Was a trap. Plain and simple. And we walked right into it."

"Intel had suggested it was clea—"

"Sidonis, I don't think suggestions are what we should go by when they could lead to our _deaths_."

Sidonis jumped from his seat. He was the least happy about Melanis joining a few months ago, and the girl didn't try to help him think otherwise. "Listen, you barefa—"

"Enough." Garrus voice came out strong and authoritative. His two turian teammates' mandibles tightened shut. Settling with glaring at each other, they didn't make another sound. "I approved the operation and I shouldn't have been so careless. We'll have to lay low for a while. We also have to be careful about setting up from now on."

Most of his team nodded. With Sensat, an asari, at the helm of their shuttle, Garrus had instructed her to wander idly in case they were being followed. She cleared her throat. "Krul, you've been surprisingly quiet. You're usually the first to tell us what went wrong."

The salarian had his arms folded in front of his chest. His eyes were wide and moving from left to right as if reviewing pages of data. "Our tactical deficiencies were due to a lack of information. We did the best we could, despite the situation. Moreover, the fact that I didn't oversee that they would use jammers to block our comms from distant comrades—amateurish. I should blow myself up."

"But that isn't what's bothering you?" The asari spoke softly. Her nature in battle and her nature in all other situations were so far apart, it made Garrus's head spin sometimes.

"No," The salarian shook his head. "The rogue at the choke point."

"Who saved our asses!" Ripper joined in, moving near the helm to join the conversation, followed closely by Butler.

"Right. I think the rogue was the one who fixed up my bomb. But—" The salarian shivered. "That wasn't your standard issue explosive. Special tech and hard to hack. Even Erash would have taken some time on it. Was crude and effective way to disable it by jamming the remote signal but the rogue must have hacked into it, set the signal to a higher frequency remote to negate the jammers. Being able to hack into that means the rogue is familiar with STG salarian explosive schematics—"

"So, the rogue is another salarian?" Garrus asked, intrigued as well.

"That would be the simple answer if the explosive was that simple. Need high level clearance to even learn it. Even I just—took a peek at it—before retiring."

"You _stole_ a bomb schematic from your government?" Butler guffawed.

"No," The salarian coughed. "I just took a look."

"Krul, you can be one badass mofo! Up top!" He raised his hand, waiting for a human high five. Krul stared at him blankly. "Oh, come on! I don't want to finish it myself. _Again_." Instead, Sensat put her own hand up from the wheel and he whooped when she finished his high five. Garrus shook his head; the asari really was too nice sometimes.

"Anyway," The salarian blinked and turned to Garrus. "I was also too far away to get a definite ID. But, in a strange friendly gesture he—waved at me. I saw five fingers. Waving is a predominantly human gesture but I have not discounted that it could have been an asari or a drell. But the bomb and the way the rogue handled the sniper rifle—boss, I admit you're probably the best I've seen outside the STG. You make it, dance, as you like to say. But the rogue's precision and speed—like a machine, calculated. It was _superb_."

"And not a coincidence." Melanis crossed her arms. "Who was he? And who sent him?"

Just then, Garrus's omni-tool pinged at the received message. He looked down and opened it, suppressing a sigh when he said, "Who else could it be?" He showed his team the message, no date stamp or salutation. Just two lines of text:

_Intel oversight is no excuse._

_Aria sends her regards._

Last updated 04.14.2014 General clean up, fixed dialogue. Fixed spotted typos. | 05.07.2013 General clean-up. Fixed spotted typos.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting you know that this chapter and the two after this was technically one giant chapter that I cut into three. Thank you for your support (adding me on your lists), reviews, and reading my story.

_Letting you know that this chapter and the two after this was technically one giant chapter that I cut into three. Although I've finished writing this arc, so that's good news: expect no more delays (for now). And weekly updates :) Thank you for your support (adding me on your lists), reviews, and reading my story._

**Chapter 5**

Meeting with Aria always made him uneasy. His mandibles twitched and his talons were always so suspiciously close to his sidearm that he couldn't fool anyone into thinking he was friends with the boss of Omega. When he was in front of her though, he had to shake off the jitters. His voice had to come up a little more confident, even playful.

"Tell me there's a reason why you've sent me my own guardian angel."

The asari looked at him. Her legs crossed and her arms over the back of the red divan. Her face was blank; he tried not to attempt an awkward joke just so he could actually see what she looked like when she smiled. Scary, he assumed.

"Taking risks just isn't your style, Archangel." She didn't motion for him to take a seat. He wouldn't have bothered, either. She never even invited him up the steps and Garrus was never going to sit up there. "Legacy is just there to keep you in line. Provide a little cover fire when necessary. Save you from your own folly."

"Legacy?"

She did smile this time, but it was close lipped and sinister. "Yes, the bastard daughter I never had. She's human, however, so it would make that hard to believe. I'm particularly fond of her; try not to get her into anything she can't handle. Though, that would be a tall order. She's been in the business long before you, Archangel. You should take notes."

"She's human?"

"Surprised?"

Garrus couldn't stop the flinch this time. Probably another thing for Krul to ponder on, when he tell him she was human. "I don't want to trust someone I don't know. Especially if she isn't part of my team." _Especially if she works for you_ , came out unsaid between them.

"Oh? You can ask her to join your little band if that would make you cozy. You'll probably get a huge 'hell no.' She's a lone wolf, as the humans like to say. It makes her more efficient, focused. As you saw."

"Dangerous, more like."

"It's part of her charm." Aria tilted her head up. "If you're so suspicious, I could arrange for her to meet your team. You can provide the time and location too."

He nodded, reaching for his omni-tool. He had the perfect place in mind already. "I've sent the details to you."

"Good. It's a date." Her voice was barely a hiss and her eyes fell into a glare. "Now, get out."

* * *

Rachel knew Aria was having too much fun playing her boss (Aria liked to be called her pimp, promptly, Rachel spat on her shoes).

She was against listening to any authority other than her own. The asari knew that and sent her to fix the dumbest problems or the most dangerous with minimal information. The Omega ruler also insisted that she keep herself incognito (as incognito as she could be, Aria's agent be damned), with a half-mask to cover her nose and mouth. She'd also provided her new armor, one that was completely black and slim fitting save for the white pattern of Aria's facial marks on the back.

Once, she had gone to take care of armed vorcha that were loitering too close to Afterlife's first floor entrance, sifting through the garbage there with only a hidden dagger and not even her sword. Next, she'd been armed to the teeth for a simple Intel drop-off mission Aria could have assigned to a retarded grunt.

Nonetheless, her name was more present than ever. She was Aria's representative, her prophet (because Aria _felt_ like being dramatic). Her word was Aria's. For Rachel, nothing could be so inconvenient. Half the time she was doing dangerous work for practically free. The other half, lackeys were sidling up to her for favors and — benefits of the sexual kind (an Elcor actually said, an Elcor!).

Even worse was her main job. When she had agreed to back up Archangel (of all the names, she thought, she didn't expect to hear this word so far from earth and from the Alliance) she didn't expect it to be Garrus Vakarian. Granted, she didn't think Aria knew that they had been acquainted—but fat chance that, Aria knew everything that happened in Omega.

When the asari had set Rachel up to meet the turian and the 11 other members of his team, face-to-face, she had the biggest shit eating grin Rachel had ever seen.

According to her own Intel (she no longer trusted Aria to give her anything of the kind), the owner of the café and bar, Eden Blue, was one Nalah Butler. She didn't have any proof, but she was willing to bet one of Vakarian's teammates was related to her somehow. She would have read the dossiers of Archangel's team sooner but they were from Aria. She wouldn't be surprised if all they had were doodles of quads.

She had scouted ahead to find out that place was supposed to be closed for the day. So, they were afraid she'd slip in while the place was open? They probably already knew she was going to try to get in while it was closed. Sighing, she crossed her arms and looked at the establishment with assessing eyes.

This was obviously some test, some way for them to determine exactly how good she was. But she really didn't want to play any games and she really didn't want to give them any more information on her abilities than she needed to. Plus, she'd saved their hides just a few weeks ago. They should be embarrassed.

Luckily, it seemed that someone had come in later than he was supposed to. He was burly and tall, his face thick with a beard. Pulling out a key to open the double entrance doors, he hummed a tune under his breath.

She adjusted her black gloves first and pulled the cloth of her mask up, activating her tactical cloak with a small smile.

* * *

"Sorry." Grundan entered through the front door, turning back quickly to lock it.

"Rare for you to be late, kid." Mieren, a former officer from C-Sec said over her cup of coffee. "What kept you?"

"Couldn't find the key," was Grundan's mumbled response. "Is Weaver back yet? He's always coming in the nick of time too."

Mieren shook her head. "No, probably won't be back for a couple of weeks from Tiptree."

"I'm sorry I'm late."

"It's all right. She isn't due for another hour. We're here for a meeting." Garrus strode in with Sidonis from the backroom. His team moved from their places to convene at a large table that Nalah had set-up for them. She was now in the kitchen, convinced that she had to make them dinner as well.

Sidonis cleared his throat. "We just want to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules? We're not five year olds, boss." Vortash chimed in, scratching his bald head. He had been a mercenary of a minor group before he joined. They were rivals with Blue Suns and in a bloody battle, most of his team died. They disbanded immediately after the incident. A real pity, Vortash was a sentinel in a class of his own.

"Oh, I trust you, Vortash. It's them," Garrus motioned at the right side of the table where Ripper, Butler, Melanis, and Monteague were standing. "They need to be warned."

"Hey!" Butler crossed his arms. "Monty is well-behaved."

"Yeah, and then you rile him up like you did when you were both mercs. Tell me again about the bar fight that ended with both of you getting kicked out?" Garrus shook his head at Butler's glare. His partner, Monteague, just smiled, patting his best friend's back evenly.

Melanis didn't look bothered by being called out. "So, we have some character flaws—" She ignored the way Garrus said "Understatement" under his breath. "Doesn't mean we're gonna jump this—what was her name?"

"Legacy."

"Is this another Patriarch pun we're not getting?" The female turian replied.

"Something about being the bastard daughter she never had."

"Woah, what are screwed up signs of affection?" Butler said under his breath, although everyone heard it and a few had to stop themselves from laughing. "She should have just named her Junior and let her walk around in a skin tight bondage suit too."

Garrus chuckled but Sidonis looked up at the ceiling, trying to summon the Spirit of Patience. "This is exactly why you needed the warning. Legacy is Aria's hand. If she dislikes us, I have no idea how I'm going to scrape you off the tiles in Afterlife."

Butler's face fell in mock anguish, turning to Garrus. "I get why Sidonis won't do it. But you're not going to save me, boss?"

Garrus scoffed. "I'd probably help her run you over."

"Well, now I know where your loyalties lie, boss. I'm so glad I joined."

Sidonis sighed. "Can't we have a meeting where something productive happens for the first half hour?"

"Isn't that why you always call us half an hour early? So we can talk about nothing for the first fifty minutes?"

Before Sidonis could start another shouting match with Butler, Garrus put a hand on the other turian's shoulder and stepped in. "Let's get to business. I don't have any intentions of groveling. But I want to learn as much as we can about this Legacy. Try to be as— subtle as you can be."

"Which is why we're in total lockdown?" Melanis gestured around her.

"It's not heavily fortified but it will be hard not to notice her enter. If she's as smart as she seemed, she'll know she has to get in without anyone noticing." Garrus nodded. "From her skillset, she seems to be an infiltrator. We know that she's a good shot but what else can she do? Now is a good time to find out."

Krul blinked a few times. "Wouldn't it be better to ask?" Everyone turned to him, a mix of shock and awe in all their faces. "What?"

"You think she's going to just tell us? Legacy, Aria's prophet—huh, have to say that is a tad too dramatic even for Aria."

"Butler," Sidonis warned. "Be serious."

The man sighed. "Aye, aye. Shutting up."

Krul cleared his throat. "Since we're going to meet her face-to-face, we should be honest. She has little reason to not answer our questions."

"Yes, because female infiltrators are made for honesty." Melanis said bitingly. "No offence, Krul. But the woman has a skillset of an assassin. It's a little troubling that Aria would assign her to us for protection. More like, the moment we step out of line she'll move her scope and drop us."

"Right. So, back to the topic of ground rules…"

They finished faster now that Butler had stopped interrupting with twenty minutes to spare before Legacy was due to arrive. Before the clock rolled in to the meeting time, Garrus had to stand from his seat and pace a bit. He didn't expect it but he felt anxious with how quiet his team had gotten. And, maybe a little excited too—he really wanted to see what this Legacy could do that she managed to impress someone like Aria, who actually agreed to a near-second-in-command. The asari had lackeys, not partners.

Thirty eight minutes past the time she was supposed to arrive left the team bored. Butler, Melanis, Sensat, and Ripper were already playing Skyllian Five in one corner. Sidonis was pacing around the bar, muttering to himself, looking as agitated as Garrus felt.

"Dinner!" The kitchen door slid open. A petite woman with blonde hair and brown eyes walked up the empty table. On the tray she was holding were two large containers of stew with bowls and utensils. "There's more in the kitchen so help yourselves." She set the tray on the table. "The one on the right is levo and the other dextro. I know you guys must be hungry after that long talk with Legacy."

Butler got off his seat and moved near his wife. "Honey, you're the best." He kissed the top of her head and she sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "But, we haven't met Legacy yet. You were supposed to serve dinner after that."

"What?" She blinked up at him. "But she—"

Garrus jumped out of his chair. Melanis dropped her cards and they scattered under the table. Butler paled, grabbing his wife's arms. Sidonis, Ripper, Vortash, and Grundan ran into the kitchen, guns in their hands.

"Where is she? Did she hurt you?"

Nalah eyes were wide but otherwise, she didn't look afraid or harmed. "No, she came by the kitchen. Gave me a little scare though because I didn't know she was there but she apologized and said she'd like some water because your meeting was over. I also offered her some stew but she said she couldn't keep Aria waiting. She left about 10 minutes ago."

"The kitchen is clear. We scanned for tech too since it was likely she was under tactical cloak." Ripper walked back in, running his hand through his hair. "Fuck, how did she get in?"

Just then, Melanis's omni-tool made a shrill noise that reached Garrus's ears like a bullet. She shrieked and tried to pry it off her arm before Sensat reached over and stopped it. "It's a message tone."

"I wouldn't change it to that!"

Sensat shrugged and opened up the message. Pressing her lips into a thin line before she looked up at Garrus, her voice came out shakily. "Boss, you may want to read this."

Garrus strode over to the two women. Melanis stood up so he could look at the message easily. Same format without the date stamp or salutation.

_Points for improving your omni-tool firewalls, Archangel. Sadly, your upgrades didn't extend to the rest of your team._

_But for everything else, you could have asked. Tell Aria when you're willing to talk like grown-ups._

Butler and Krul had been looking over his shoulder to peer at the message as well. Garrus could guess that the salarian had an "I told you so" in his mind but Melanis just looked ready to murder anything that spoke within her vicinity.

So, Krul backed up a few steps before muttering it. Melanis still heard it and snarled.

Erash, silent the entire time, huffed. "She's good. We shouldn't have done that."

"Too late for regrets now." Mieren rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Your call, boss."

Garrus nodded back. He told himself he should be angry. His pride should have shattered into little pieces. His father's voice, telling him he had been careless and reckless, should have been playing over and over in head in an endless, irritating loop.

Instead, his hands shook so badly that the tremors were visible till the very tip of his talons. Under his breath, he chuckled and tried to hide his grin from an irate Sidonis.

_Last updated, 04.18.2014 Clean up. | 05.07.2013 General clean-up. Cleared up some narration/dialogue. / 09.26.2013 More clean up. Ugh these typos are everywhere and nowhere._


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter finds you all well. I enjoyed writing this immensely.

_Hope this chapter finds you all well. I enjoyed writing this immensely._

**Chapter 6**

Aria sent her a message saying Archangel wanted to meet up again. Strange, considering she had just gotten back to her apartment from Eden Blue. Legacy summoned her patience to read the rest of the message.

Laughing loudly as she scanned the message over and over again. He wanted to meet up, but this time without the team and she could pick the place and time.

She knew a challenge when she saw it. He wanted to return the favor and Rachel always appreciated due payment.

In the back of her mind, a voice that told her that she shouldn't be enjoying this so much. She did dread, to an extent, meeting another member of Alenko's ground team. Would she have to tell him what Liara had told her about the Commander and Cerberus? So far, she doubted Liara had told them anything either. Otherwise, Garrus wouldn't be playing vigilante, he would be in the next ship to Ilium asking Liara what the hell was going on. But maybe, she didn't want to give them any false hope. Rachel didn't have to feel like she came to Omega as the asari's messenger—it wasn't part of the debt she had to pay to the Commander and it would in no way aid herself or the mission.

But now she was giving in to lesser needs. She decided to just bask in the anticipation of meeting a foe who was either her equal or her lower (or maybe her better, but only barely) with a gun. But what else could he do? She'd seen the way he took out the mercs and mechs, quick and with a certain flair—definitely more personal than the way she took her enemies down with a bullet. The dossiers from when he was still in the Normandy either didn't do him justice or he had become much better since Saren. What else could he do? How could she find out?

They would still have their grown-up conversation but only after she had her fun.

* * *

"Alright, Vakarian." She typed up her reply and sent it quickly. "Now, you're talking."

She took her gloves off first, scanning the large scars on her hands. She noted they were now a dull, brown color. She made her way to the bathroom, took a quick shower, skipped dinner, and fell on her bed. Her thoughts full of plans and places, mentally setting up where she would ask Vakarian to meet her.

That night, for the first time since Alenko's death, she had a dreamless sleep.

"Are you sure we shouldn't go with you, boss?" Melanis asked for the seventh time that morning. Garrus was grabbing what he thought he needed - extra thermal clips of concussive bullets, his trusty Mantis, an M-3 Predator, and an old knife Sol had given him before he left Palaven to join C-Sec. "You look like you're getting ready to go to the battlefield."

"Oh, I plan to." Was his enigmatic reply as he loaded his rifle and cocked it before switching it to safety. "And I'm going to have fun doing it."

Melanis approached behind him, hands on her sides but her eyes were wide. "I really don't think you should go alone."

Garrus sighed. "No way would she have agreed to this if she thought I was bringing any of you. And, I might offend her again if I broke my word."

Melanis crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Since when did you care about what some human lackey thought of you?"

He shrugged, not replying. It wasn't like he _did_ care about what Legacy thought of him. But he hadn't done anything impressive so far. And Legacy had all but proven herself to be many parts intelligent and skilled. It wasn't like him to remain under her boot heels for much longer.

Okay, so maybe her assessment of his abilities had some weight. But even if he didn't know anything about her character, he could respect skill when he saw it. She was likely able to assess whether or not he was her lesser or her better.

When he was almost done packing, with Melanis still nattering off about how some of them should be in a close location on standby, Krul came into the room with three extra medi-gels. He plopped them down on the desk near Garrus's pack. Garrus looked at his salarian teammate. "If she knows a lot about explosives like I think, you'll need to load these into your armor at some point. Oh and," He pulled out a thin metal rod about the size of a human finger. "A precaution. Should sabotage the smaller explosives she might have set up. Also, if she gets close enough, it will disable her tactical cloak— if she doesn't incapacitate you before then."

"Krul, don't encourage him! I really think—"

"Thanks, Krul. Melanis," The salarian nodded and excused himself. Nodding, Garrus turned to the female turian, standing confidently in hopes that it would inspire some trust. "I'll see you and the team later tonight. Eden Blue. If I'm still alive, anyway."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not funny."

He chuckled. "I'll see you, Mel." He took the extra packs of medi-gel and the tiny piece of tech the salarian had made. It was midday, according to Galactic Standard hours, when he left. It was a 150 minutes before he needed to meet Legacy but he was eager to cut her preparations short.

* * *

Rachel knew the turian had activated the trip-laser she set up by the entrance of the building on purpose. He was cocky enough to think she needed him to press the doorbell so she wouldn't be caught unaware.

She arrived earlier than she intended, sure that he was going to try to cut her preparations short. The building she had set their appointment in was set for demolition, having run out of money while it was in progress, it has about 20 floors, but nothing but its skeleton stood in the Tuhi district. There were barely any doors, a lot of open space, and only pillars for cover, so she provided some extra cargo boxes (some randomly packed with surprises!). The only way up or down was through the stairs unless she wanted to be creative.

Any surrounding buildings that might had enough height conditions to be wary of were at least two klicks away, but not impossible to aim from. Though, Omega's atmo, consisting of mostly air and light pollution, made it a bitch to aim from that far—and that would be without having to determine the wind speed. The rest of the surrounding skyscrapers were much shorter in height so all she had to do was climb up to avoid them. However, Vakarian wouldn't snipe today. They were done testing each other's ability to scope and drop them. Surely, they both had other talents?

Currently, she was setting up on the 14th floor and was going to climb up to the 18th. That's where she planned to skin Vakarian's hide.

"Turians are similar to the Legion. In fact, their military forces are made up of legions." Her mentor's voice resounded in her head, his tall and gangly figure as clear to her now as it was when she was a child. His hands were clasped behind his back in a military fashion and his large dark eyes met her own gaze. "They're worthy opponents. A good turian knows the value of working as a unit, as a tank of force."

Rachel sighed, switched the safety of her gun off and cocked it. Reaching down for her gloves that were on one of the crates she set up, she looked at the large scar on each of her hands and noticed how they flared red. She grinned before slipping them on and securing them.

She heard the second trip laser she set on the fifth floor staircase go off. He was moving faster and with less noise than she anticipated. Sabotaging her traps, maybe? She hadn't been aware that he knew how to do that. "What about a bad turian, Lor? What do I do with those?"

In her mind's eye, her mentor blinked at her as if he recognized that she had asked something. He was always discreetly pleased when she asked him questions. When he was eager to answer, he would begin to pace, like he did now. He nodded, "True, _Anue_." She closed her eyes at the name. In the old language, Lor's old language, it meant daughter or dear child. "We should always think of exceptions. We're a stealth cell, we always perform with at least 30 percent improvisation."

"Just remember that what we lack in defense we make up with speed. A cell isn't a tank but it's adaptable, flexible. If a turian believes he doesn't need his unit to survive, we make him remember why legions exist.

"It will go down to hand-to-hand. That's where your advantage is greater. Recite to me a turian's biological weak points, _Anue_."

Smiling, she walked up the staircase, activating the trip-lasers there too before climbing up. She locked one of the few doors in the entire building on the 16th floor where the main staircase cut off. He would have to walk through the floor to reach the second set so she placed an especially painful trap in the lock that would trigger even after he hacked into it. She opened her omni-tool to activate the turrets she pilfered from an Eclipse base a few days ago. And again in the 17th, including the few hidden cameras there that would send his combative data to her omni-tool for her to review later.

When she reached the 18th floor, she activated the generators that sat on the perimeter, creating shields that would hold through at least one powerful missile launch from a gunship. She'd hate to be interrupted by Aria's or Archangel's enemies in the middle of a date. Moreover, the wind would ruin the effect of the smoke screens she planned to use.

" _Anue_?"

"Sorry, _Abruel_." That meant father, she had only called him that once when he was still around to call at all. She sat down on one of the crates she'd set up, leaning forward on her elbows. "What were you saying?"

"Weaknesses."

"Ah. From the bottom up: main arteries between the spurs and the legs, weaker set of plates at the pelvis that give them mobility, under their arms where there is no plating at all, their throat but avoid hitting the cowl, and eyes are small but vulnerable."

"What are your weaknesses, _Anue_?"

Lor always asked that before they began a job together. It was his own way of give her a military pep talk, but she found it far more comforting, far more endearing than the ones he might have recited to a larger team. There was only ever one answer.

She heard the sound of the turrets go off in the 16th floor. He would be here very soon. Standing, she switched the cameras on the 18th floor on as well. She paced around the room again, noting the shape and curve of the place, keeping her body warm before the battle.

"The men of the Legion are one. Together, we have no weaknesses."

* * *

By the time he managed to survive all 17 floors, he had already made a fairly accurate assessment of her abilities.

Her intelligence was never in question. She made creative use of the terrain. Despite the device Krul had given him and his own visor, he had set off one explosion after another. Some of the trip-lasers were in places no one in their right mind would put for fear of demolishing the building. But they were small scale explosions, just enough to make noise and bring his shield down every damn time.

Though he took extra pains to wait and stay low until the generators in his suit patched them up, some blasted turret would find him there and shoot at him. When he checked whether he could scale the walls on the ninth floor, he found very visible and very potent mines. Even if he managed to evade them all, one mistake meant he would be falling very hard and very fast. It would be an embarrassing end, really. What was perplexing was how the girl had moved to get them all in place. He also took to avoiding what crates she'd put up as cover. He learned his lesson when he took cover behind one. Turrets immediately aimed and triggered the explosives within it. He had his finger jamming the medi-gel dispensers before the explosion could blow his right arm off.

Her tech expertise was high, but not Tali high. He should be glad for small mercies. But he was still floored by the Neural Shock trap set at the door on the 16th that his visor didn't pick up (he'd have to fix that, there were a lot of things she did that weren't picking up). He had collapsed in a fit of embarrassing screams, the pain may have lasted longer had he not disabled it through his omni-tool. He had turian military training to thank for that one and the sound of his father telling him to get up and move.

Everything else came as a lesser surprise. The mechs were just for warm-up, to which he shot down to the music of "Bang Bang Boom" and the turrets were standard. Save the few on the 17th floor that she had applied stealth tech to, he would have missed them if not for the distorted image when he was about to move forward (and again, his visor jogged. She was helping him out, really). He rolled behind the pillar just in time for it to start spitting bullets at him.

Spirits, she was good. But, it was nothing he couldn't handle. Making short time, he cleaned up the 17th floor till there was nothing but the splintered carcasses of turrets.

He didn't rush up to the 18th floor. Somehow, he knew she was going to be up there and he had to be prepared. How would she try to attack him? Likely, bring down his shields through explosives and gunfire. Since they weren't trying to kill each other (he hoped, but after 17 floors of dangerous tech, he was having second thoughts) she would likely engage him in close quarters. Not a good option for her, especially since Garrus was who he was. But she wouldn't see that as a mistake until they were engaged in combat.

He let the medi-gel swim through his system, he only had one left. The explosions coupled with rapid gunfire in succession really tore through his shields and he was still reeling from the Neural Shock a floor down.

He simulated all other likely scenarios. What she would use to go at him, if she would be as ruthless as she was so far. If she would attack him immediately or wait till he let his guard down a fraction. What bullets would she use and what gun. Would she have a close quarters weapon or would it just be hand-to-hand.

Admittedly, he had never been so excited to be in a fight since his time on the Normandy. It wasn't like he was some over-eager krogan, ready to head butt and stomp the next pyjak that turned to look his way. Omega gave Garrus a sense of purpose, a reason to fight. But the thrill of besting his supposed betters, surpassing his current limits— there was very little that could compare.

There was nothing short of military complexity that got a turian going the way it did. His heart was racing and his feet felt light, his body weightless. Gun at ready, he made his way up to the 18th floor and the door slid open easily.

Krul's device did short work of the mine he stepped on. He looked down with a smirk. It was mean of Legacy to set something up like that, especially if it was full of shrapnel like any standard issue mine. But from what he could tell it was supposed to release a smoke screen, so that meant Legacy wasn't trying to kill him. Just mortally wound him so he would need all the senses of an apex predator to compensate.

It was perfect.

Not without her fail safes, he heard more standard smokescreen grenades drop, clanging against the floor as a steady cloud of smoke got him to cover his mouth instinctively. Normally, a place high up like this with strong wind would have gotten rid of the smoke, but he looked to his right to see the floor's perimeter shimmer blue and he noticed the generators. Spirits, she had the place walled in.

Not knowing about Krul's device, when she had gotten close enough her tactical cloak disabled and she appeared, sword in both hands with the blunted end first, and she swiped at him, aiming for a soft portion of plates near his hips. Rolling quickly, he brought out his pistol and aimed for her shoulder.

The rest of her face was covered by a black mask but her eyes widened when she noted her cloak was gone. His visor picked up her quickened heart rate. Hand on his gun; he pulled the trigger quickly, timed precisely with his breathing. She reeled back at the impact of two concussive bullets that brought down her shields. He pulled his trigger again and again, aiming by his visor's calculations but she was quick on her feet and she flipped back several times. Once that was far enough, she reactivated her cloak and disappeared. Now that she knew her cloak had a weakness, she dropped more smokescreen grenades to make up for his superior eyesight and visor.

He stopped himself from grinning and went back to business. Looking again to his right where the nearest generators were, he reloaded his gun and took aim. He would have to destroy a least two on opposite ends of the room for optimal results but one large gaping hole in the shields was sufficient. He managed to destroy one before Legacy got wise and attacked him again, this time from above.

She used something blunt and heavy, and it took down his shields (damn, concrete. Where the hell did she pick that up from?). He was sure she aimed for his eyes rather than just his head. A hit there would have had his brain rattling against the frame of his skull and he would have blanked out. If she got him in just the eyes without the shields—he didn't want to think about the damage.

She threw a small knife at him and he stepped forward and to the side, close enough for her to crouch down and hook an ankle between his leg and his spur. He yelled in pain, losing the grip on his pistol and it dropped to the floor with two clacks. His weight collapsed from under him and he fell backwards— he heard a loud snap and felt the flare of heat before the pain on his leg traveled up. A howl escaped his mouth and he resisted the urge to reach for his leg in pain.

She had a thorough knowledge of his biology. He was reminded of Melanis, their first meeting. The practiced motion when she aimed for the most vulnerable place in a turian's natural armor. But this wasn't just practiced, it was perfected. When Legacy sprung up, he sat up as quickly as he could even when his leg throbbed and the pain multiplied tenfold. Barely thinking, he raised his right hand, talons out and struck her, aiming near her pelvis where her armor was thinnest.

Legacy moved fast enough to avoid the blow, a graceful spin that almost took his breath away. But he had little time to appreciate the art of it and used this distraction to leap up, his leg crying in pain and likely broken, to bring her down to the floor, her skull cracked down hard against it and she let out a loud gasp.

On top of her now, he raised his hand again, more aware that he should close it into fist to avoid piercing through her face with his talons.

But he felt, more than saw, as the smoke was thinning around them— that she was still armed and that the tip of her sword had slid uncomfortably close between the joints of his armor and the tough plating near his hips. It would take him longer to pierce her throat than it was for her to drive her sword through his guts.

She'd probably kill him before he could, but if she wasn't stubborn enough, she'd probably follow soon after.

Garrus's thought was cut short, however, as he saw red liquid flowing out from under her head and how narrowed her eyes were as she looked at him. Fighting to keep them open, he noticed they were such a dark intense green. He'd only once seen such eyes once and coupled with the fact that she was holding a sword—

Instead of piercing her throat with his talons, he pulled down the mask to reveal the rest of her face. Garrus let out a sigh of relief and a chuckle when he saw that she was smiling at him. The sword near his hip, clinked against his armor, reminding him that if she decided to slip the sword in there it would kill him.

"Spirits, Rachel. I almost killed you."

Rachel, not quite a friend and not quite an enemy, chuckled. "I would have given you the point for this fight if you didn't hesitate, Vakarian. Now you gave me a head start."

_Last updated 04.18.2014 Fixed spelling and typos. |05.07.2013 General clean-up. Spelling. Typos. Made some transitions smoother. Fixed separators. Cleared some narration._


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise is a promise. Not much action but enjoy. :)
> 
> Leave me something to make me happy?

 

_A promise is a promise. Not much action but enjoy. :)_

**Chapter 7**

Rachel pulled out the medi-gels and the first aid provisions from inside a crate. She knew beforehand that the fight could get messy and even if it didn't, it was always best to be prepared. She threw the turian his own kit and proceeded to tend to the wound on her head, applying the medi-gel and sighing in relief as she felt the throbbing from the pain ease.

It would probably need stitches. But it was good that it was bleeding instead of leading to a concussion. She could deal with that later. Applying the temporary tape that would keep the wound closed, and another round of medi-gel to be on the safe side. The wrap kept slipping as she tried to get it around her head. Her hair was getting in the way—she would need to cut a whole lot of it off. Aria would have a field day with that.

When she turned back to look at Vakarian's progress, she noticed he barely moved. He had been glaring at her the whole, (if the way his eyes didn't flicker was any indication) and had yet to fix himself up. Likely, he was studying the white marks on her new armor that was in the same pattern as Aria's facial markings, understanding the significance of it, and getting the wrong idea. Which didn't take much of a leap and he had no reason to think otherwise. He was sitting on one of the crates, his talons tightening and untightening as he held on to the medi-gel she threw at him.

"Did Alenko know you were working for Aria?"

"I only work for myself, Vakarian."

"Not what this looks like." He motioned at her armor and paused. "I think I remember telling you to call me Garrus."

"You did." She shrugged. "I've decided to ignore the request."

"Charming."

"You know it."

Shaking her head, she pushed a smaller crate near him, crouching down to study how best to put his leg there. She looked at him first before he nodded. Together, they eased the leg on the shorter crate. She held out her hand and he passed her the medi-gel, wordlessly. "It's broken in at least two places. One break is clean though—"

"Yours, obviously."

She laughed in spite of the morbidity. "Yeah. But with the pressure you applied to it afterwards you must have shattered it in another place. It will be a pain for a while. No vigilante fun for you."

"Thanks for that."

"Hey, you cracked my skull open."

He smirked, as much as a turian could smirk anyway. "It was self-defense."

She rolled her eyes, applying the medi-gel. It was probably more painful than it looked because he let out a long sigh and his shoulders slumped considerably. "You'll have to have it checked professionally though. The medi-gel can't completely handle this kind of internal damage. You want me to splint it?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "If you can that would be, uh, nice."

Resisting the urge to not to do it out of spite, she reached over for the kit and began her first aid. Above her, Garrus cleared his throat. "So you weren't working for Aria before recently?"

She nodded. "It's a mutually beneficial agreement. Although, it doesn't look that way now with the way she's slave driving." She reached for the bandages and began to wrap it around the leg and splint.

He managed to chuckle a little. Peering curiously over her work, he blinked several times at her when she stood up, finished. "Well, I was expecting it to be bad. Should I be worried that you know so much about my biology?"

She shrugged, turning away and walking to sit down on one of the crates in front of him. "What can I say?" She smirked, crossing her arms. "I have a thing for aliens."

"You mean you have a thing for me?" He had the cheek to look serious about that.

"Yeah. I have a thing where I just want to take my sword and just," She pantomimed the motions on herself, smirk still in place. "Slit it right across your throat."

"Am I that irresistible?"

"Of course. Archangel is a pretty shiny trophy here in Omega."

He scoffed. "Liar. You don't care about trophies."

She laughed at that. "Have me pegged already, Vakarian?"

"Garrus." He corrected sternly before he shrugged. "And maybe a little." He went back to being meek again. Rachel had to notice, Aria must have been endeared by his awkwardness— it had been awfully similar to how Nyreen had been in the earlier days. Aria probably wouldn't admit to that though. However, he sobered, his small smile vanished. "But I still want to know what you're doing here and why you decided it was your job to be Archangel's protector."

"The circumstances asked and I delivered." His eyes narrowed again. She sighed, leaning back on her hands, legs crossed and dangling over the crate.

"Listen, Vakarian, there are things I just can't tell you. You'll have to take my word for it. I don't plan on shooting your head off in the middle of a firefight or maiming any of your team. If you're still uncomfortable with that, I can help you in other ways where I won't have a gun in my hand and I won't be standing behind you."

He seemed to consider this for a moment before he looked at her again. His blue eyes were vivid, even with the space between them. "So, what can you tell me?"

She sighed. "Vakarian, I'm only motivated by two things. First," She put up her right index finger for his reference. "Whatever connections I make are dedicated to finding my mentor, Lor, who vanished during his personal mission. Normally we would go on missions together but—" She closed her eyes for a moment, remembered his retreating back. Banishing the vision, she opened her eyes again. "It wasn't my place to join him."

"Is he dead?"

"Highly likely." He winced at her impersonal and straight tone. "But I knew that I wouldn't see him again, anyway. But I want to know what happened to him and if there is anyone I have to pay favors to, if they helped him or if he took his life. Second," She put up her thumb. "I want to see Cerberus burn, you can't know all reasons why, not now. But their total destruction will be the one shining light I see when I'm at death's door.

"If I can accomplish one of these two things in my lifetime, then I will be glad to leave the galaxy behind. Anything hindering me from accomplishing these two things must be eliminated as well." She put her hand down, her face softening. "Before Commander Alenko died," Garrus closed his eyes but she continued. "He had me investigate Reaper activity. We didn't get very far but the Collectors came up."

"They're real?"

"It seems. I was searching if they were connected—then he died and just recently that human colony got hit, not a soul left but no signs of struggle."

"So, you're barely sure if it will lead to anything? That doesn't sound very wise."

"I don't have anything definite, true. Just a lot of coincidences but the Reapers are definitely a threat to my goals. And I can't have that. So anything I can do to get rid of them or their allies needs to be done That's why I'm here. Omega is a criminal hub and if the nightmares about the Collectors are accurate then this is the place to find out."

For a long while, they just faced each other. Blue eyes met green. It was night according to Galatic Standard, but in Omega night was the only time of day.

When Garrus nodded, asking her instead about arranging some way for her to gather Intel for Archangel so the lives of his teammates wouldn't be put in jeopardy again, she leaned back again on her hands, relieved. She wouldn't have known what to do if he pried further, and if she was forced to tell him she may have to kill him one day. The less he knew, the safer he would be.

* * *

It was past closing time when they both strode towards the Eden Blue, Archangel's team was waiting with a physician as Garrus had instructed. Garrus, using Rachel as a crutch moved from her to lean on the doorway when she stepped away from him.

"There's a doctor in the shop. You could have your head checked out too."

She shook her head. "And face 10 angry men? No, thanks." She put her mask up again, looking smaller now that she had a bandage wrapped up around her head as well. "I've sent you my extranet address. When you want something done, just ring me."

"Yeah."

"I would recommend nothing strenuous for a while though, for both our sakes."

He smirked. Did she think he could resist replying to that? "What? Can't handle a little exercise, Legacy?"

"No," She replied, deadpanned. "I just don't want my brain to fall out of my head in the middle of a stealth crouch."

He laughed, wincing when he applied a little pressure to his leg. "Just be sure to have that checked before you sleep."

"Aye, mom."

"Wouldn't that be Aria?"

She groaned. "Do _not_ remind me."

When he laughed and her eyes glittered with humor, she stepped back a few times before turning completely around. He watched her walk some distance, towards the space car they had used to get there.

How was he supposed to explain his injury to the rest of his team without sounding less macho? It probably didn't matter, for a turian to get a leg broken was a rare thing. The rest of his team probably won't get it but Melanis and Sidonis would. The enemy he faced was ruthless and knew exactly where to strike, that he was able to give it as good as he got won't lose him much respect. He'd gain a whole lot of teasing, he was sure. That, he was not looking forward to that.

Waiting for the sound of the space car's engine and thrusters, he stood by the entrance to Eden Blue before unlocking it. When the streets became silent he pushed his way inside and locked the door behind him.

_Edited 4.23.2014_


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter. I have busier weekends than weekdays. It's the most ironic thing. Thanks for reading and reviewing/commenting/kudos-ing!

_Early chapter. I have busier weekends than weekdays. It's the most ironic thing. Thanks for reading and reviewing! As well as adding me and/or my story to your lists. Much love._

**Chapter 8**

Intel was smooth and near seamless with Legacy to confirm and re-confirm everything Sidonis found out. It didn't take either of them long to recover from their injuries and within a week they both were on the field again, kicking ass, and taking names. They didn't actually see each other. She mostly left the coordinates of her Intel and left it for one of Archangel's team to pick up. Anything else was sent through proper comm channels with Erash's best firewalls. He never talked to her alone either, save for the impersonal mails he sent her about work.

But she checked in regularly, in a surprising show of camaraderie, she would update him on her status or send him a short one liner about how Aria was being a bitch or how she was going to sleep and not to bother her until a certain time. He didn't really understand the motivation behind these messages, and he never replied with anything of his own for the first few days. But then she sent him the one line about how an asari stripper proposed to her and promised to change her occupation and he had burst out laughing in the middle of a late night meeting and replied with, "As if you're the settling down type."

His team was partly skeptical about where he was getting his information, and a little perplexed at how often he looked at his omni-tool to read her messages (they only came at the start of the day and at the end, but Garrus found himself looking at old messages anyway). Sidonis was surprisingly all for the pseudo-friendship, anything that made their lives easier—he supposed Sidonis saw it as practical that they had a friend from T'loak's side, one that people were really considering as the asari's extension and sometimes daughter (though Rachel _hated_ that).

The problem with the liaison of Archangel and Legacy didn't lie so much with the team but with Legacy herself.

Some two weeks since his broken leg, and seven months since Archangel had begun operations, less than half the team gathered: Melanis, Krul, Butler, Sensat, and himself. Erash was by the computers, keeping the channels clear and listening in on Beta team's status. They needed to do another operation while the team led by Sidonis was out. Another golden opportunity: taking out Blood Pack's leader, Garm, while Sidonis and the others hit a prime Blood Pack base.

"We'll need you to come with us on this one. We have about an hour before Beta team reaches their destination and is ready to move."

"I don't work with a team." She answered, her holo image barely a silhouette. Erash had patched her though to their HQ but she'd purposely blurred the visuals. He caught the movement of her shoulders: did she just shrug? Or was it a glitch? "I'm afraid I'll have problems following orders."

"And comprising is impossible because…?"

"It's not like you're paying me."

"Now you just sound like a merc."

"A mercenary?" She snorted. "Mercs are crude, violent. I'm an artist. And artists need commission. Aria asked me to do you one thing. And I asked you to choose: Intel or fieldwork. You chose and I delivered."

"Won't we be fine without Beta team?" Sensat interrupted. She sounded sweet but even Garrus noticed the tick above her eye. "They will be drawing most of their forces to them."

"Blood Pack is made up of a lot muscle, in other words, lots of krogan and vorcha who don't know when to die." Garrus hummed. "We have you to deal with them when they get too close which is good. But, if there's a way for them to not get close at all? Much better. Thus, an extra line of defense would make the plan sounder."

"Look," Legacy interjected. "If you need me for your plan then I think you're in way over your head. Didn't we discuss that you should take it easy for a while?"

"I don't think Archangel asked Aria's pet for advice." Melanis growled, her mandibles twitching upwards, the plates on her face tightening together.

Garrus thought it was the best time for him to intervene before Legacy chose to reply. "The time to strike would be now, since activity has been slow while I was recovering. They won't see it coming."

"Archangel, Garm has an army of vorcha. Even if you take down the ones at the base, there are two more bases approximately less than half a klick away. This isn't just high risk, it's a miscalculation. Withdraw your team and reconvene. Fight another day when the odds are higher and in your favor."

"Smaller forces have faced greater odds before. We've got this, Legacy. And if you're there, you'll be less worried."

"I'm afraid the answer is still no." She replied, voice crackling with the static while her image wavered and blinked in and out but her tone was clearly cold. "Let this be a lesson to you, Archangel. There are risks we should all avoid. Legacy out."

"Hmph, what does she know?" Melanis muttered, turning to Garrus. "Shall we get to it, boss?"

He nodded silently, lingering behind the Board Room before heading to the shuttle to hit Blood Pack's HQ. He gripped his rifle tightly, trying to get Rachel's voice and her warning out of his head.

* * *

The dreams had started again.

It always began now with the visions from the Prothean ruin, it wasn't even a Beacon but still it had sunk its teeth into her. There were so many dead. People that didn't need to die, she thought, there were always too many of them.

Then the other dreams came after, structured as they usually were.

She sat in a cell after Akuze, refusing to eat or speak to anyone. Every time she closed her eyes she saw her team die: crushed into meaty little pieces, partly eaten, their insides spilling over. When she returned, the Alliance gave her their condolences, their platitudes and locked her up in a cell so they could watch her. Officially, she'd been released and honorably dismissed but in truth, she was down the road to becoming stark raving mad.

Nothing Lor had said, what they had done and trained together, had prepared her for the responsibility of taking care of lives other than her own. Not any of the villa's simulations or training. She didn't know what to do, what to think— die, maybe? But she wasn't ready to die.

It was Hackett who came in then. He was a fresh faced, newly appointed Admiral at the time they first met and he had recruited her, but now he looked old and grey. She owed him a lot. He gave her the second chance no one had given her before, not since Lor, just one among all other things she still owed him and his family.

"Sir," She croaked from under the blankets, huddled and shivering.

She looked up at him, his eyes shining in the dark. She'd never been able to confirm if he was crying that day. "Shepard."

No response.

"It wasn't your fault, child. You did everything you could."

No response.

"Shepard?"

No response.

The silence crept on for minutes. Stretched taut in her dreams and memories until all he could do was stand in front of her, unmoving and patient. She thought then that it wasn't Hackett's fault. At least Hackett deserved more than just her silence.

She whispered back at last. "They died. They died because I wasn't ready."

"No." He answered quickly. "You were ready. They only had a fighting chance because you were there."

"But I failed." She whispered again. "And now, they're dead. They had families and friends. They shouldn't have died."

He sat down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, clasping it. She'd shivered at the contact though it wasn't cold. She could feel the warmth even through her blanket. Everything else was just so cold, everything but that hand.

"Shepard," He spoke softly. "The Alliance, no humanity, still needs you. What you were able to do in Akuze—it was nothing short of a miracle. The brass doesn't want to let you go just yet. They want you to lead another team."

She shook her head. "I can't, Hackett." She sobbed. "I can't."

"Shepard," His hand on her shoulder tightened. "You know more about being a leader than anyone of your rank. The group they're about to assign to you—no other soldier or marine will be able to teach them what you know. They don't have the wisdom, the skill, or a sliver of your courage and they definitely won't have the compassion. Only you can do this.

"I believe in you, Commander."

Despite Hackett's encouraging words and her own promotion, Shepard took a long time to get back on her feet. She still barely ate and even when she did she trained till she puked. She talked to the psychologist, or talked circles around her but that had helped in its own way.

When she met her new team, after almost half a year of rehabilitation later, they were standing side by side in a straight line. There were seven of them, all of them she had never seen before even at N-school. Hackett stood beside her, older and more tired. He spoke without the gentle tone he had used when she was still in her cell.

"Marines, you will no longer answer to the orthodox chain of command save your commanding officer and a few of the brass, including myself." He turned to her. "For the next six months you will know the ins and outs of your new profession from your commanding officer."

She stepped forward, towards them. "I'm Commander Shepard. Welcome to the Dominion, marines. From this day forward you will no longer exist."

She had wanted to be reintroduced to the seven faces again, but her omni-tool bleeped insistently, and she woke. It was zero-four-hundred hours Galactic Standard time, practically too early before anything should be happening—even crime.

She thought it was Aria, being bitchy again. But when a batarian spoke on the other line she froze at his words. "Legacy, boss took a bad hit. Our doctor can barely do anything but cauterize the wound. Any other doctor is suspect. Do you know anyone we can trust?"

She could hear a lot of yelling in the background, probably his team scattering for purchase. She liked their tech expert, Erash—as much as she could like someone who was a near stranger. He barely seemed to be affected by anything but at the same time he had to be worried. She doubted any of them had the capacity to tell him to call her.

She sighed through the comm, her bare feet padding towards the bathroom and holding her arm up so he could hear her. She washed the sleep off her face with the free hand and brushed her teeth. "Your team?"

"Bumps and bruises. All accounted for."

"Garm?"

"Boss almost had him when he chased him too far. Then the ugly vorcha came and he had to retreat."

She tried to hide her chuckle at Erash's expense, but if he noticed he didn't say anything about it. "Is he conscious?"

"Fades in and out."

"Mm. Where's the wound?"

"I don't know much about what part is what but— his gut? Somewhere near the—really skinny middle."

"Hah, it's bad then but he'll live. Stubborn bastard that he is." She began typing furiously at her omni-tool. She was already dressed in armor without Aria's insignia when he finished talking. She paused in her typing to put her black gloves, noting the color of the scars as a pale brown before responding again. "I'll call the doctor I know and tell him your boss is coming. I'll send the coordinates of his clinic to you and call for safe transport. ETA four minutes."

There was a pause. "You have HQ's coordinates?"

"It's my job to know."

Another pause. "I see. Please, then."

"No problem. Keep your boss lucid."

"Okay," He let out a long rush of breath. "Okay."

"He'll be fine, Erash. Tell the second-in-command. Sidonis, was it?"

"Yes. And okay," He breathed out again. A long suffering sigh of patience and strain he must have been holding while everyone else was panicking on his end of the line. "Yes. I'll tell him."

"Legacy out." She put the comm down and strode out of her apartment with her fingers back on her omni-tool and connecting to the good doctor. He answered, half asleep but sounding alert: "Legacy. Calling late again. Mortal injury so soon after last?"

"Dr. Solus," She sighed at the comm. "I'm calling in for another solid."

* * *

Garrus woke in a med bay.

Not many people were inside, but he could tell by the ones on the neighboring cots that most of them were sick or injured. People in unofficial, if not grimy uniforms, were flying about and chattering through a lot of medical jargon that he couldn't understand. The place was run down, though, and the medical equipment was outdated by at least a year.

Searching the room some more for his teammates, he spotted the familiar human figure of Rachel, legs crossed and nose buried in a magazine—wait, was she holding _Fornax_?

"Doctor," She said suddenly over her shoulder, mask in place. But he noticed her hair was cut short and layered. Strangely, it suited her more than her hair before—it looked more practical. "I think you're right. They're actually not genetically modified."

"I thought so. Asari mammary glands vary. Still all bigger than female human counterpart." A salarian doctor walked in, two glasses of water in hand. One he handed to Legacy who smiled with her eyes, her other hand still held the magazine. The salarian turned to face him. "Ah, awake." He placed the other glass on the bedside table next to Garrus's cot.

"You're—"

"Mordin Solus. Doctor. Attending physician. Legacy's," He paused first to consider, looking back at Rachel before she nodded, eyes bright. "Friend."

"I'm—"

"Garrus. Safest name to utter. Already figured out alias."

"My team—"

"Sent them home. Noisy. Disruptive. And they needed some sleep."

"And where am—"

"Residential Gozu District. Makeshift med bay. Safe." Mordin blinked twice. Garrus grumbled, glaring.

Legacy laughed softly. "You're not going letting him get much edgewise, are you, doctor?"

"Interrupted sleep I was actually enjoying. Entitled to it." He replied, lightly.

She dropped her mask and finished her water in a few gulps. "Doctor, aren't you too old for petty revenge?"

"Never too old to receive due payment." He nodded, probably amused inside but sure to not show it to Garrus. "Will be attending to the other patients across the hall. And, will tell Abrams he was wrong about asari."

Rachel didn't bother to hide that she was amused. "Of course, doctor. Thank you."

Solus blinked at Garrus a few more times before he turned and walked away. Rachel waited for him to leave before setting the magazine and her empty glass down.

"Should I even ask about the Fornax, Rachel?"

"It was of medical interest to Mordin." She rested her hands on her lap. "And his assistant claimed that the asari had a—what is 'boob job' in Galactic terms?"

"Right." He felt dizzier. "Appropriate conversation between medical professionals: talking about— those." He motioned at her general top area and felt awkward for it because now he was staring—even if he never understood the attraction but he still shouldn't stare because humans could be sensitive about those things. But Rachel just laughed breathily.

"Salarians have little interest in sex, Vakarian. Or, those." She mocked the way he did his motion and he laughed back.

"Thankfully. I don't know what I would do if you started explaining it to me. Or worse, showing me."

"Like I would give you a show." Her eyes brightened and there was a small smile on her face. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone tore my organs out through my chest. Otherwise, not so bad. My head is clear."

"Mordin decided to give you the weakest pain killers. Something about it helping you heal faster."

Garrus groaned. "And you believed him?"

"He has been my doctor for a good couple of years now." She grinned. "And he was so happy to see you suffer. I almost forgot he could be violent sometimes for someone so full of sense." She opened up her omni-tool. "Erash called me and said you needed medical help. Shall I call him to tell your team that you're awake?"

Garrus shook his head, no. "They should rest. And listen, you—" He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. He saw Rachel looking at him, serene and without a trace of anger. None he could read, anyway. "I'm glad you aren't lording this over my head right now. I—pushed myself too hard there. But when I saw that Garm was all alone, that I could end him—"

"I probably would have done the same." She interjected. "People like me. Hell, I'm still alive today because of grudges. I know what it's like to have the enemy in your scope and then when shit hits the fan, you have to sound the retreat or else it's you and not them."

"Yeah." Garrus sighed, sitting up so he could look at her better. "I shouldn't have compromised my team like that."

"They could handle themselves. They got you out in one piece, after all."

"They did." His talon traced the bandage wrapped around his waist and chest. Garrus sighed. "I should have taken your advice. Did you, ah, that is did you have your own team before being such a loner?"

He did ask jokingly and he really wasn't expecting her to answer. But her eyes lost its glow and his mandibles twitched a little. Not one of his shining moments of humor, then. She looked down to study her hands, wiggling her fingers like it was the most interesting thing (though he had to admit, having five fingers had him staring at them too—it's not like there were a lot of humans in C-Sec while he was still on the force or at Spectre training).

She looked up at him. "My first team—I was made de facto leader because I was the next in rank. They were killed in action. We were facing impossible odds, but I had hoped that we'd live through it. But they died, all of them. I was the only one who made it out alive."

Garrus immediately felt guilty for asking. He opened his mouth to say something but then what could he possibly tell her? Anything but platitudes, surely, but then there was nothing else he could think of. He could say now he understood why she liked working alone? Now he knew why a team didn't suit her? Garrus wasn't sure when he'd become so rude or so quick to judge.

Rachel noticed his distress and managed a small, painful smile. He felt guilty for that expression as well. "Don't worry about it, turian."

"Sorry."

"There's no reason to be. You didn't kill them." Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. "My second team was disbanded. I'm proud to say we're all accounted for—in spite of the reasons why we aren't together now."

"They're not—vigilantes like you and I, are they? Or borderline criminals, especially in your case. If the authorities managed to actually pin down your identity, you'd have an eight figure bounty on your head now, at least."

That got her to laugh and he felt immensely better for it. "It takes a special brand of crazy to become a vigilante."

"Well, it is hard to get that right combination of good-looking and badass."

"And conceit."

"It's not bragging if it's the truth." He let out a chuckle of his own and she smiled at him. "But on a serious note: thanks for helping out. Again. And for telling me about your teams—for educational purposes."

"Just doing my job, Vakarian." She stood up from her chair checking her omni-tool before wincing. "Twenty messages. You'd think the queen of Omega would have enough warm bodies to do her dirty work." She typed furiously, brows drawn so close together it created a crease. "I'll send a message to Erash to tell your team that you're awake and to come by in an hour or so. Enough time for you to get more rest."

She moved towards the exit but he reached out, holding her by the forearm, near her elbow. It would have meant a lot in his culture, the implicit trust he placed on her for all the times she'd helped him and his team and even Commander Alenko. She flinched at first at his touch and looked like she would pull away but he met her gaze and she calmed. "Really, Rachel. You've done more than you have to. I owe you."

Her eyes moved down to the talons on her arm, then quickly over to his face, then to his eyes. What was she trying to find in his expression, he wondered. What was she searching for and had she found it when she smiled? "I promised Mrs. Butler I would grab a coffee at the Eden Blue. When we're not both shooting things, maybe you can buy me a cup or two."

"Done." He let go of her arm, mandibles twitching to some expression that humans might call a smile. "It's a date."

"A less violent one, I hope?"

"I was only trying to get to know you."

She laughed, back turned already as she made her way out. She called over her shoulder "I bet you tell that to all the girls."

"Only the ones who can shoot my brain clear out of my head."

"Shut up and rest, turian."

He chuckled to himself, moving back into the bed and the covers. His hand twitched, remembering how strangely soft Rachel's arm was compared to a turian's. And the way she looked at him when he did it, eyes roving and moving from one point of his face to the other: memorizing, detailing, remembering.

When he closed his eyes after a while, thinking about her and what she had said and done, sleep embraced him and he allowed it to take hold.

_Edited 04.23.2014_


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While I have to get both this story and my life in order, there will be a delay in the update. Most likely, a two week delay. Hopefully, I can get my stuff together. Thank you for all your support (by either leaving me a comment/review, adding me in your list, etc.)! Till next time.

**Chapter 9**

It took another three days for him to heal enough to leave the clinic (or for Mel and Sidonis to force him to bed rest). And then the team stuck to little jobs after that, focusing on information gathering and strengthening connections. He told them they'd be fully operational in another two months, so until then they could all just "let their hair down" (whatever that meant, but Mierin said it was the appropriate phrase).

There was a collective look of relief on all their faces, mostly on the humans. But it was Butler who first voiced it out. "Praise the Lord, boss. I thought we'd have to work through Christmas at this rate. I wouldn't know how to explain it to Nalah."

"Has it been that long already since we've started?" Monteague breathed. "Doesn't feel like all that much time has passed. The eight or so months just flew right by." He grinned at Garrus. "Maybe we can finally get to the range and shoot some targets, sir."

"You're a fair shot, Monty." Ripper looked smug with his arms crossed, hands tucked under his arms. "But the boss could screw you sideways, under, over, wherever, and whenever. Hell and back."

Montaegue nose wrinkled at that and Mierin just put her head in her hands, shaking it with a groan. Even Garrus thought that the sentence shouldn't have translated so well so he could be blissfully ignorant of whatever mental image that brought up.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ripper." Montaegue finally replied. "Anyway, I'd like to learn from the best when I can."

"As long as that's all you want to learn. Then, I'm game." Garrus received a lot of surprised laughter and Montaegue's glare for that. "But, you'll have to enlighten me. What is Christ-mass?"

"It's Christmas." Mierin corrected.

"Right. Christmas. What is it?"

Surprisingly, it was Sensat who looked up at him and answered. "Boss, have you not heard of Christmas? Even some asari have taken up the tradition. Didn't the humans ever celebrate it when you were in C-Sec?"

Garrus flinched at the reminder of C-Sec. He had only ever revealed that part of his past to his team. He couldn't bring himself to say that he had been in the Normandy and worked with _the_ Commander Alenko too. Or that he got into the Spectre training program. He'd probably never have to tell them unless one of them pried it out of him. Even then it would take a lot of prying.

"Boss?"

"Ah, I think I heard it in passing." He paused, thinking about it, banishing censored portions of the life he left behind. "But it's not like I went out of my way. Too much paperwork and too much red tape to tear off. There was also the daydreaming about the faces I would like to smash, in between."

"Aye, I hear you, boss." Vortash nodded. "Surprised no one asked you out on a date or something though. Or even a C-Sec party. They do party in the Sec, don't they?"

"They're officers, Vor. Not mechs." Meirin replied with a glare.

Vortash shrugged. "Looking at you? I don't think you're the prime example of C-Sec warmth, Mei-Mei."

She punched him the arm, hard. Vortash held back a howl.

Garrus wouldn't be deterred though. "A date? Why would people go on dates on Christ-mass?"

"Christmas." Sensat interrupted him this time.

"Right. That word."

"Well, depending on where you are from Earth, people celebrate it differently. For most it's a religious and family event. For others, it's a time for friends or lovers. Colonies are pretty much the same about it too." Mierin shrugged. "Normally I'd head back to Earth to visit my brothers in New York but I don't really wanna leave Omega. They'll have to deal with a video chat."

"Cold."

"Shut it, Vor."

"So, you guys just—gather? Isn't that a normal day?" Garrus blinked at all his other non-human teammates. Shuffling through the datapads, Sidonis muttered to himself, probably having no idea what they were talking about or didn't care. Melanis was picking dirt from under her talons with a knife. Erash, who didn't seem all that interested, was typing things down next to Krul who blinked back at Garrus. Only Sensat seemed both enchanted and amazed all at once.

"Well, we exchange gifts."

"Why?

"Christmas used to be a pagan celebration but it got adopted into Christianity. But even non-Christians celebrate it. We basically give thanks to everyone around us, who've helped us or cared for us. It's a festive ritual." Weaver walked in, twenty minutes late and fresh from the dock. Dark haired with almond brown eyes. Garrus wasn't sure but apparently he had the face women found "cute". His smile was a pleasant one. "What did I miss, boss?"

"A hell lot." Mierin motioned with her head at Grundan who grunted behind her. "He'll bring you up to speed. But basically - we're on vacation for a while."

"Really? Great, I'd like to stay with my family in Tiptree for Christmas."

"You'd miss the party!" Sensat jumped up a little. "We are having a party, right? And we can exchange gifts!"

All the humans exchanged looks. Garrus would have called xenophobia but they all just burst out laughing. Butler clamped a hand on Sensat's shoulder. "Girl, that's a great idea. We can have it in the Eden Blue. The wife won't mind the extra company. But—ah, you guys know how the gift giving goes?"

"Is it similar to Betau?" Krul spoke. The humans turned to him, confused. "New Year celebration for exchanging favors among salarians."

"Well," Butler scratched the back of his head. "Most of the time, the gifts are tangible. Unless you know the person real well it's risky to give anything else. You give stuff you know the person likes: jewelry, clothes—that kind of stuff."

"It's frivolous." Sidonis muttered, apparently he was listening. "Money and resources wasted on gifts isn't efficient."

Sensat's face fell. "But isn't the sentiment wonderful?"

"If a turian wanted to thank another turian, he gives him a nod and owes him one. If the gifts have to be tangible they'd have to be weapons or tools he can use it combat or in his trade."

Butler rolled his eyes. "That's a fine gift too. But you can't give a weapon mod to someone like Nalah! She'd probably cry and tell me I don't know anything about her. Bottom line is that the more meaningful the gift the better. Like, if I gave Mei a thong she'd probably clock me over."

Melanis looked up from picking her talons. "I didn't formally celebrate Christmas here in Omega. But the humans who ran our orphanage used to set up the best meals around this time of the year. Don't bother trying to explain it to Sidonis, he thinks acts of gratitude are beneath him."

"You—"

"Anyway," Garrus interrupted. "So, how would it go between lovers? Any different?"

"Well, they'd celebrate alone for sure." Butler waggled his eyebrows. Garrus had to find out the hard way what that meant.

"And when is Christmas?"

"Two weeks from now."

Garrus stiffened. "Really. Exactly two weeks from now?"

"Yeah." Butler nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. "What's with this line of questioning? Did you have something set that day?"

"Well," Garrus shifted his stance. Melanis and Sidonis turned away from glaring at each other to look at him. Great. "I didn't really mean for it to be a date but we both happened to free that day so I asked Legacy if she'd want me to pay up for helping us out. We're supposed to go get coffee."

"Woah, wait—Legacy? Legs that go on forever and lithe figure, Legacy?" Butler backed up. " _Human_ Legacy?"

"Not to mention that ass." Ripper muttered, crossing his arms. "No excess but with those hips and her tiny waist. Bust isn't too big but it wouldn't suit her. She's right on all the places, _very_ right. What does her face look like, boss?"

"Uh, human?"

"Useless, turian." Butler shook his head bitterly. "She's definitely a looker under that mask, guys. All the beautiful girls go for the ugly ones with "great" personalities." He had the gall to use air quotes.

"Who is Legacy?" Weaver interjected.

"A hot lady who could kill us all with a toothpick." Butler nodded.

"Boss," Weaver looked mock hurt. "At least give us the beautiful, dangerous ones. All the nice ones flock to the asari!"

Garrus crossed his arms. "I'm considered a looker in Palaven, you know? And highly eligible according to the Hierarchy."

"Maybe she didn't know it wasn't that kind of date?" Monteague chimed in, earning Garrus's glare for ignoring him. "Why she would say yes to a turian? I mean, the boss is cool and all but he's not exactly human."

"Boss, if you want to start punching then I will definitely hold them down for you." Melanis hissed, putting her knife down.

"Oh, Mel, we're just playing!" Butler walked up to her and slapped her on the shoulder. She didn't look pleased at the gesture but he didn't seem to care. "But, I dunno maybe we should ask her. Right now. Vid comm even."

"Subtle, Butler." Garrus chuckled. "But it, uh, wouldn't be considered rude or anything? To ask if this was a date?"

"It would be _very_ rude. But you're Archangel, so fuck it!" Ripper turned to Erash. "We've got to see her face."

Erash shrugged. "She looks human. I don't see what all the hype is about."

"You've _seen_ her face?" Butler yelled.

Erash blinked his four eyes several times. "She knows her tech. Other than the boss and Weaver who wasn't around, you're all varren shit at it. Also," He added a grin. "She's nice."

Krul nodded. "Judging by aesthetic human appeal, I suppose she is very attractive. And she does have a pull that is almost asari-like."

"You've seen her too?" Butler reached for his hair, pulling. "Where is the justice in this? She just shows her face to all the aliens!"

"The cool and ugly aliens, you mean." Garrus added. "But fine, Erash, patch her in for a video comm."

"Boss," Mierin looked anxious. "I can tell that Legacy isn't exactly a normal woman but I don't think ambushing her like this will be very pleasant. Especially in front of men who just spoke about her like a piece of meat."

"Like meat? They didn't—"

"Human expression, boss."

"Ah," He paused to think. Legacy kept to herself often. But it seemed she spoke to Erash and Krul through comm and without her mask (and without him knowing about it either). Nothing much fazed her either and so if this got under her skin, even just a little, then he wanted to do it. However, he didn't want to feel guilty about pushing some kind of button that would make her furious.

"Look, whether or not it's a date—I don't even see humans in _that_ way. They look—squishy and fragile. Even if Legacy is less so, I still did manage to bash her head in. A turian would have a carapace to reduce the impact, even a little."

Weaver was about to ask what had happened when Grundan dragged him to the side. Butler backed down. "Well, boss, don't you at least want to know if you should get her a gift?"

"Well—"

"You don't want to get her one?"

Garrus thought about it for a while again. Rolling his shoulders, he turned to Erash. "Fine. Patch her through, Erash."

The batarian shrugged. "I don't think she'll like this, boss."

Garrus was almost shocked that he picked her side. Almost. "She doesn't have to know you were in on it."

Erash smirked. "Patching her in."

All four men gave each other high fives, save Grundan who just looked ashamed for a man his bulk. Garrus was almost pleased, even with the glare Mierin sent Garrus's way that he shrugged off.

"She isn't available for video comm but the audio one is—sir, I think there's gunfire in the background."

"We caught her in the middle of a firefight?" Garrus asked. "Wait, why would she accept the call?" Shaking his head, he gave Erash the signal to patch her through.

"Vakarian," she breathed through the comm. There were a lot of bullets firing around her, it seemed. "Rather busy, so this better be good."

"No one likes a show off, Legacy." Garrus crossed his arms but his eyes were sharp. "Do you need help?"

"The Blue Suns are acting up near the clinic. They've instigated a battle with one of the minor gangs in the middle of the street. Sadly, some little shits thought this was the best time to start plundering houses and clinics." There was the distinct noise of her reloading and firing, reloading and fire— the rhythm of it almost made Garrus relax instinctively. "Mordin said the mechs are in maintenance so I should stand guard. This is nothing I can't handle on my own but I don't think the residents are as lucky."

Garrus gave his team a look that got them setting up their equipment. Butler sighed loudly. "Guess it's never going to be a real vacation, we'll probably get called in for the occasional battles."

"Duty calls." Garrus reached for his Mantis on the table, already equipped with a new scope. He turned back to the general direction of the comm device. "Legacy, ETA eight minutes."

"Much obliged, Archangel. Legacy out."

* * *

When the Blue Suns decimated the minor gang and the looters were going wild, Archangel arrived and they scattered like ants. Legacy had already headed back inside the clinic, helping transport more injured from the skirmish outside.

In less than an hour, the whole Archangel team walked in. On point was Vakarian who kept his helmet on and his face hidden. Legacy was sitting on one of the couches near the door, legs crossed and half her face covered by her mask. She sifted through the contents of a datapad furiously.

"Legacy," Vakarian called out to her. There was a general spike of excitement from the group of human men behind him. One of the females kicked one of them in the shin and it died down by a fraction. "You look like varren shit."

She couldn't see herself but she hadn't really bothered to fix her hair or wipe the blood off it either. "Better than pyjack shit. I hate the color green." She put the datapad down and rubbed her eyes. She'd been having dreams lately, more than usual. Sleep was becoming a luxury. There were also the occasional night calls from Aria and with last night's weird gift—damn, Aria.

Rachel knew, however, that she needed to keep her health up, the body was the tool of an artist and it wouldn't do to ruin it with stress and fatigue. "Coincidental, really. I came by the clinic to pick up some stims and then the skirmish happened. Awful timing."

"Rotten luck. It hits the best of us, especially when we're down."

She felt herself smiling, even if he probably couldn't see it. Rachel couldn't see his face either and with his helmet his subharmonics sounded more intimidating and mysterious. She leaned back against the rest of the couch and crossed her arms. "Anyway, you called. Is there something you needed?"

He shifted his weight. "Now I feel petty for calling you when you're tired."

She waved his comment aside. "Please. I've been through worse."

"It's really not all that important." He glanced back at his team. She couldn't see it but she was sure he was glaring at the one corner where there were mostly human men. They turned their gazes to different parts of the clinic. "Sorry, I called at the wrong time."

Rachel blinked up at him and then tilted her head to the side. "Okay, now I'm curious. What is it?"

"It's nothing. Really."

"Oh, it's definitely something. You better tell me soon, turian. I'm going to start guessing and it will be embarrassing for all of you. I can be pretty ruthless."

Vakarian started. "Maybe we should start walking—"

Rachel turned her gaze sharply to the asari who froze in place at her stare. She also noted the searching look, the wide innocent glow and the curiosity behind her glance. She remembered Liara then, how innocent she was before Alenko died. Rachel hadn't made it any better with all the things she had taught her. But she wanted the girl to survive and she wouldn't unless she trusted less and acted more. It was an inappropriate thing to remember and her good humor died down. "Very well. I'll see you in two weeks, Vakarian."

Save for Vakarian himself, other turians, the salarian, and the hulky man in the back—all of them visibly flinched. That caught Rachel's eye and she looked back up at the turian and a fine eyebrow rose in amusement. "I see. I got it in one, didn't I? Is there a problem?"

"Well, no." He paused. "It's just that I heard from my team that it was Christ-mass."

"Christmas." The asari chimed in.

"Right. That word. So I was wondering if—"

Her omni-tool started chiming, a series of bells that rose an octave when left ignored—a setting Aria had installed to warn her who exactly was calling. That had Rachel rolling her eyes at it. "Like I'm going to answer her." She killed it with an aggressive press of a button.

"Who was that?"

"Aria."

" _Aria_. You put your comm down. On Aria." Vakarian took a step back. His team obviously looked like they'd rather not be part of whatever Rachel was about to get herself into. "I think you have too much quad than what's good for you, Legacy. But at least you didn't hang up mid-conversation." He looked like he wanted to add something more, but he glanced at the team behind him and couldn't go on. Something they weren't supposed to know, Rachel betted.

"I've spat on her shoes too. Even Grizz found that funny and the turian doesn't react much. She hit him instead though so that was fun." She looked up at him and her eyes sparkled. "She'll call again, for sure. Want to watch me hang up on her mid-conversation next?"

"Goddess," The asari in their group walked forward. "Can I?"

"Boss, I think most of us should get going." Sidonis cleared his throat. Most of them shifted, probably all afraid that they would die if they were caught giggling at Aria getting snubbed.

"I'll catch you guys later. Sensat, go with them."

She looked up at him with a really sad look. Almost puppy-like that it must have made him waver because he looked away really fast. "Sensat—"

His team was already near the door, far from earshot when the ringing started again. Both of them froze and Rachel reached for the comm button. "Ready?" They both looked at each other and then they both looked at her and nodded. Holding back a little gleeful giggle when she turned her comm on and Aria's holo shot out of it.

"Legacy, you better not—"

And then she shut it down with a press of her omni-tool and, three dark laughs from three different races resounded through the clinic. If the staff or patients heard, they tried their best to ignore them.

Vakarian was the first to sober up. "Tell me you do this often."

"Only when I feel I have every right to. " Legacy leaned back down again. "Her idea of a joke escalates every time I don't complain."

The asari, Sensat, she heard Vakarian call her had only stopped laughing then. "What did she do?"

Rachel looked up at her wearily. "I think she was trying to help with my fatigue. And then, she went too far and—"

The omni-tool didn't ring this time but Aria's holo came out anyway. Even Legacy blinked up at the image of Aria, standing, arms crossed and absolutely livid. Rachel knew she shouldn't have let her pseudo-boss tinker with her omni-tool. "I hope you've had fun laughing at my expense, Legacy. And pull your mask down."

"As if you didn't deserve that." Legacy glared but obeyed. Her smile was feral and showed a lot of teeth. "And you were being rude, I have guests."

"Tell me who they are and I'll send someone to kill them for me."

Sensat jumped a little at that but Vakarian's hand on her shoulder made her ease up. Rachel smiled at the holo. "You always send me to kill for you now, Aria. And I refuse. Dare to send someone else?"

Aria replied with a low laugh. "I was getting in the spirit for your little human occasion. It was rude of you to send back my present."

"Aria," Rachel said patiently. "The next time you send a _hooker_ to my personal apartment, an apartment no one is supposed to know I live in, I will lay mines on your floor of Afterlife, personally."

"We pumped him full of drugs afterwards, he won't remember shit even if you pried it out of his brain with the best tech." Aria shrugged. "And you need to get laid, maybe the nightmares will leave when you relax."

"You're never relaxed and you sleep just fine."

"My conscience is clear."

"You're a fucking bitch, that's why."

"Come here to Afterlife and say that to my face." Aria hissed.

"Make me." Rachel shut down the omni-tool again. She looked up at her two guests. She couldn't tell what kind of face Vakarian was pulling but he was leaning on one leg with his arms crossed—likely amused then. Sensat, on the other hand was smiling a little. "Something wrong?"

"She must really like you." Sensat smile became wider. "Even if she gave you something strange."

Rachel rolled her eyes, standing. "I'm just a convenient pet who needs her help. So Vakarian," She looked at him, eyebrow raised. "What were you about to say? Tell me before I run around and avoid Afterlife."

"I was just going to ask," He cleared his throat. Sensat nudged him encouragingly on his side. Even if she couldn't see through his helmet, she could tell he must have looked down at the asari and given her a thankful glance. "What you wanted for Christ-mass—I mean, Christmas." He hastily added a beat before Sensat could correct him.

"Ah, well, anything really. Just no strippers or drugs or prostitutes, please."

"And I was just going to ask if you wanted a human or an asari." He said smoothly.

Rachel looked up at him and laughed. "Well. I'm tired of Aria's smug purple face. So if I do need you to get me a hooker then anything but asari, please. Don't forget to put a bow on top of him."

"And if I send you a turian?"

She beamed at him. "You're going to send yourself over, Vakarian?"

"You know me, Legacy, vigilante by day, King of the Night come evening. I have to pay the bills somehow and you know all I have going are my mad skills and my face. I don't do bows though. Make me look fat."

Laughing, she waved him off. "I'll see you in two weeks, Vakarian." Still smiling she put an arm on his shoulder, a fleeting touch she registered as unnecessary and berated herself. She kept walking though, heading for the door. "And don't worry about the gift. You don't have to give me anything. See you. And," She smiled at Sensat. "It was nice meeting you as well, Sensat."

She left before any of them could say goodbye.

* * *

"She was—amazing. Different from when we talk to her as a holo for work."

That was the fifth time Garrus heard Sensat gush as they left the clinic. They were taking the long route to the HQ, hoping to divert anyone from thinking that they were who they were. For all anyone knew, they just had a checkup in the clinic and were on their way home.

"No wonder Erash likes her. He doesn't like anyone except maybe you."

"Really big maybe there, Sensat."

"And she was beautiful. I don't think I've known a human to be so beautiful."

"Really? I can tell the difference between one human from another—most of the time— but I don't know if I could consider her beautiful."

"You live a few hundred years and you'll probably never meet someone as pretty as her. Her eyes were so green and her laugh." Sensat laughed to herself as well. "But she was—how do humans put it? She was beautiful inside too. And yet," This time the asari looked up at him with her smile gone. "She looked so sad."

"She did look tired." Garrus nodded.

Sensat shook her head at that. He'd forgotten how perceptive Sensat was, it was easy to overlook her other qualities when she was smiling and gentle. But when in a firefight, she was a raging biotic. Nevertheless, she was also the first person to join Archangel after he and Sidonis had started it. She went out of her way to find him, picked him out from a crowd and said she knew he was Archangel and that she wanted to join them. He had panicked at first, reaching for his sidearm and aimed between her eyes. But even through his visor, her heart didn't quicken and her face didn't change. Confident, powerful and yet gentle. Garrus found Sensat admirable—she would have gotten along with the Normandy crew and Liara had he met her earlier.

"It's more than just tired. You could see it in her eyes, the shadows there." She shivered, holding on to her own arms. "And because Aria sent her a gift—must be worse than we know. I don't think Aria is the type to care about much. Legacy has made herself an exception." Sensat's gaze looked up at him, beaming wildly. "I'm happy to know she has you now."

"Me? We're barely friends. We just—knew each other before I came to Omega."

"You're going out of your way to meet her for coffee." Then she added. "And don't think I don't know who you're talking to via omni-tool. I know it isn't your sister."

"Wait, how did you know I have a sister?" She smiled, silent. He shook his head at her. "And in any case, that's called paying for favors. Like Sidonis said, a turian knows how to give in return."

"Yet you went out of your way to ask what she wanted for Christmas." She was still beaming, he felt the nervous twitch of his mandibles. "You haven't even asked Melanis or Sidonis what they wanted and they're probably the closest things you have to friends in Archangel. You haven't even asked me, and we're walking together right now."

Garrus jumped. "Oh, uh, what do you—"

"Don't change the topic, boss. It's a little pathetic. The cute kind but still pathetic."

"But what is the topic?" He stopped in his tracks and Sensat got a few steps ahead of him before she turned back to look at him. The alley was oddly empty, not even a vorcha had crawled out of the trash somewhere. He could hear the dripping noises from a loose pipe but other than that there was nothing but the two of them and the rancid stench of Omega. "I don't know where you're going with this, Sensat."

"I'm just saying," She said with a sigh. "That I think she would be a good friend to you too because you need those yourself, you deserve them."

"Well, Sensat, I—" He could have deflected with something witty but stopped himself. She was looking up at him with such confidence that he didn't want to ruin her good intentions. He was probably an open book to her—she already knew there was a lot he hadn't told the group. Just earlier he had wanted to mention to Rachel that he had told Commander Alenko to drop the comm on the Council. The commander never did it, but every time they blamed him for letting the Rachni queen go free, for doing something to save the galaxy, etc. Alenko's hand had moved dangerously close to the button.

"Thanks for saying that, Sensat."

She smiled. "Anytime, boss."

"But just so you know, the team means a lot to me. You all do."

"I know, boss."

"And I doubt I would put my—friendship with Legacy ahead of any of you."

She looked like she was about to object but she nodded quietly anyway.

"Good. Let's go then."

Sensat waited for him to walk a little bit ahead of her before following behind him. They reached their HQ in silence.

Edited 05.07.2014


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, life really does beat you when your down. Nonetheless, writing makes life easier. :) Do enjoy the long chapter. Feedback will be loved 5ever (yeah, I used it. I would judge me too).

**Chapter 10**

On Christmas Eve, Rachel put all her extra hours into Aria's Afterlife. Omega probably didn't really know it was near Christmas or what Christmas was. The calculations in Galactic Standard Time were weird too if a human hadn't been to the Sol system in a long, long time. But humans in Omega didn't seem to forget when a beloved holiday was and the season was a busy one for a sleazy club. A lot of lonely humans—no family and full of one-night lovers—but very few went to Omega because they loved it or chose it. More so the club that stood at its heart.

In her little corner on the second floor, before she was due to make rounds on the first, she was going through her omni-tool looking at her information broker's messages about the whereabouts of one Nyreen Kandros.

She couldn't tell Aria that Nyreen was part of the next phase of her plan, that Commander Alenko would need all the support he could get. Kandros may have lost her clout in the Hierarchy, but Rachel was sure she had some friends in the Cabal who could still get something done. Rachel had been tempted to cash in favors with her old contacts in Palaven but it was better to keep things nice and easy until she was sure she didn't have a choice and she'd have to reveal herself.

So far, her broker and friend, Barns found nothing solid on Nyreen's location. She feared contacting Liara for help. The Shadow Broker—if he ever knew who or what she was—would make himself at least eight figures richer so that wasn't an option. Rachel might have to go to another friend and cash in more favors. She hated how much time and effort she was spending on this rather than looking for Lor, but she knew the commander needed this—least of all, the galaxy. If it made things easier for her in the long run of her personal quest, she'd do it.

There was also the fact that Rachel never did anything by halves. There was still honor amongst shadows and she had promised whatever help she was willing to provide to the commander.

Just when she was teetering near the edge because of the lack of leads on Barns' part to find out more, a message from Vakarian came through her omni-tool. Talking with Vakarian was easy, so easy that she felt relaxed in his presence. Maybe it was all the random messages they sent each other, the odd times she would be caught snickering at Afterlife. She was doing that now too because his one message that had read: ' _Sensat won't shut up about you. I think you've indoctrinated her.'_ came with the best timing

Near her post was Grizz, another turian who was less flashy but comfortable to be around. He would normally ignore her laughing but this time he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "At least share your porn if you're going to watch it in the middle of your shift."

"Not porn, Grizz." She turned her omni-tool off after a quick reply that said: _What can I say? Asari worship me._

"Whatever, Legs." The turian liked his puns, which was weird for a turian—they barely knew anything about human figures of speech. Maybe they were all unintentional. "You tell me why you're cackling there by your lonesome without an asari stripper."

"I don't laugh when I'm about to get it on, turian."

"Hah. That's what they all tell me but when I get going they all start laughing."

"That's because your technique is so poor they have to laugh. It's called pity."

His mandibles twitched into a smile. "Legs, you have no right to claim that unless you've tried me."

Her left eyebrow arched and she put her right hand on her hip. "You're really going there, Grizz?"

His smile was still in place. "Legs. I say you have the best pair around. No joke. And to do it with the girl with the hottest legs would be the best sex of my life."

Even through her mask and the music of Afterlife, her laugh was pretty loud. So his puns were deliberate. "Grizz, you have a thing for humans? And no attraction to tiny turian waists? What would your mother say?"

"She'd disown me and I'd end up in Omega." They both chuckled at that. "And heads up, Legs, lackey at your three."

She didn't need the warning because with the way the batarian ran up to them, the whole floor would have probably heard it. He was gasping a little loudly too. "Legacy, Patriarch wants to see you."

Rachel looked at Grizz who just shook his head. So, Aria didn't know anything about this. "What for?"

"He didn't say. But he wants you in his room immediately."

"I don't answer to Patriarch." She paused. "You tell him that the next time he needs me, he'll have to pay a lot of money and have a very good reason."

The lackey looked both scared and irritated at the same time but in the end, he nodded and left. Grizz shook his head. "Should we tell Aria?"

Her mind easily opened up to the possibilities: what could a meeting with the old king of Omega do for her? Patriarch may be a fallen Battlemaster, but he was still a powerful krogan, who ended up having to answer to a more powerful asari. However, she was sure he still had some friends, and those friends would have friends too. If she could gain some semblance of footing in Tuchanka as well, that would prove helpful to herself and to Alenko in the long run.

When the lackey came back, half the money in hand which was already more than what she'd made in the months she'd been in Omega, she smiled. She told the batarian she would see Patriarch after her rounds.

"Would it be all right for you to keep a secret just this once, Grizz?"

The turian crossed his arms, mandibles twitching upwards into a smile. "I ain't cheap, Legs."

She smiled back at him. "If I come to work in a dress that showed my bare, human legs—"

"Done." He accepted easily, snapping back into guard duty. She laughed as he began to shoo her away. "Now, shut up and leave for work before Aria becomes suspicious of us."

* * *

When she met Vakarian in Eden Blue the next day, she felt battered from the lack of sleep and the job the Patriarch had sent her on. It was no joke and she wondered why Aria hadn't dealt with it already. There were emerging factions of mercenaries— hell, a new one cropped up every day and was either massacred or dismantled mere hours later.

Normally they would have owed it to the food chain to keep things balanced: the big eats the small.

Apparently, however, the vorcha were gathering. It wasn't a Blood Pack kind of organization, either. It was an all-out cockroach-like manifestation of how many vorcha actually lived in Omega and how easily they could just raid and kill everyone. Of course, no one ever worried because organization and vorcha never went in the same sentence.

Getting ahead of herself, she would say that either the Collectors or Reapers were involved. Personally, she thought it was something Cerberus would do to instill fear of aliens in the heart of every human being—the vorcha already had all that stigma against them that it wouldn't be hard to give one final push. Last night, she had stealthily made it inside one of their warehouses to investigate but she saw nothing that could lead her to definite conclusions.

"A long term project," She muttered as she made way into the sky car she had parked a ways away. "Perfect."

When she returned to her apartment to prepare, Rachel had donned her old armor (the markings on the back would have given her away) and left her mask at the apartment as well. She got to their meeting late, at least by two Galactic hours. Sliding into the seat across Vakarian, she nodded at him and ordered her own drink. He didn't press her about how late she was or how long he had to wait for her.

"Sorry."

He pushed a plate of cookies with the flick of a talon. "It wouldn't be the first time I got stood up."

She noted that his subharmonics had a hint of fondness in them. Fondness from the memory? Or fondness that she was late? Strange turian. "I bet it's usually the other way around."

"Uh, no." There was the distinct twitching of his face plates that told her he was nervous. "It's not like I've had time to make attachments, even if they came my way."

"Not always as smooth as you are now, Vakarian?" She popped one of the bite size cookies into her mouth and had to stop the smile.

"I am really smooth, aren't I?"

"Cocky shit, more like."

"Too much praise, I can hardly take it. Here, have more cookies." He pushed the plate towards her again.

"Don't think you're going to get away without telling me about it."

"What? But I just gave you cookies."

"Am I going to have to start my guessing game?"

"Fine." His mandible clicked together. "But you're going to have to tell me something in return. And it better be good."

"I'm game." She challenged. "You first."

He bore his teeth and leaned in when her cup of coffee came. She could see in his blue eyes how he was filtering through his memories, trying to choose which one would be best suited to share. Rachel had to admit to herself that she had found what expressions she could read in his eyes and face interesting. The turians she knew, or had known were more closed off (at least to her, as human as she was) and she'd had to learn to discern their emotions through their voice (a limited effort, again, because she was as human as she was).

But Vakarian's face was different, his eyes were different. He was surprisingly easy to read, at least to her. It had not attracted her the same way white innocence did, but Vakarian was obviously flawed— secretive but not false. He was some shade of grey that was comforting. She wondered what his life would have been like if he had been made Spectre earlier (he was skilled enough for it, she was sure) and if they would have spent their lives chasing each other, hunting each other down. That would have been fun.

"So I was young, right? Barely into the military service before I started getting noticed. A little less than 20 years old and I've shown some promise."

"So boastful even in youth?"

"Quiet, Rachel." He waved her comment off and she snickered. "Anyway, so I had been given the opportunity to stand out even more. Looking back at it, it may have been one of the reasons why I was considered a Spectre candidate: though the odds were small. I'd been assigned a post on a dreadnought, a huge ship by the name of _Unconquerable_ —and one of the captains there was into, hm, young men."

Rachel nearly spat out the cookies she was happily eating. Instead, she opted to choke on them until she took a sip of coffee and tried her best not to laugh too loudly, "You're kidding."

"Wish I was. She, uh, propositioned me to spar several times. I don't know if you're aware that letting off some steam was allowed in the turian fleet?"

She nodded, remembering her own days and the times she had to fight side by side with turians. "I'm aware."

"Then, you'd know that as long as it doesn't get in the way of the mission we're allowed to fight?" She nodded and he nodded back. "I was her personal punching bag most days. And then when she propositioned that it escalate into something more…" His grin was more eloquent than his words and she chuckled. "With the meritocracy in place and her rank—well, we may have loose rules with regards to sex and violence but this was taboo. Rank stripping, even. Practically death to the eyes of the Hierarchy."

"Did you do it?" She leaned forward too. If she was honest it was because Vakarian's eyes had turned a dangerous and sharp shade of blue and she wanted a closer look.

"We did." He paused. "Have I mentioned she was married?"

"Well, shit."

"Shit and Spirits, indeed. It was a short relationship, a physical one but it was the world to me then. Didn't see how she strung me along—all that waiting around for her and she never came. When it was ending—well, I was young and I thought that was it. Stupid really. Our huge fight made a lot of noise, literally, and people came running. No one asked since her husband was someone up there. I fell a rank or two, nothing really.

"The look on my father's face, hah. He never really yelled at me for that. But he knew exactly who she was and what she'd done. I never thought my father would ever come to my defense on anything. Now that I think about it maybe it was actually his work that just got me demoted for insubordination."

She leaned her head on her hand and tilted her head. "Ever think of going back to Palaven to visit them? I mean, your family."

He leaned forward too, talons lacing together and he leaned his chin on his clasped hands. "I do. All the time. But it's difficult to explain things to my family, my father. A lot of bad blood no one wants to wash away. Wounds we've left to fester."

She huffed. "Family is important. I think you should go."

He considered this in silence for a while before he reached for his own drink and took a huge gulp. "Maybe I will, Rachel." Then his eyes sharpened again. "And now it's your turn."

"Ugh. How can you ruin our sweet moment just like that?"

His mandibles clicked. "Pay up, Rachel."

"Hmph. Fine." She straightened her back and crossed her legs. "Truthfully, I've only had one or two casual relationships." She smiled. "Say Vakarian—"

"Garrus—"

"Vakarian," She insisted sweetly and reached for a cookie and popped it into her mouth. She let him wait for her to finish chewing as punishment for interrupting her. "There's a lot of stuff I can't tell you—about my past— but what have you already guessed about my life?"

"Hm." There was the small shift and twitch of his face plates upwards. Thinking, a retrieval sort of effort she noted when turians were about to recite something from memory. "That you've likely worked for the Alliance, is one."

"Good, so at least I hadn't unintentionally revealed anything to you." She smiled. "And what did you think they'd have me do there? My specialization, besides leading my own team?"

"Assassination was at the top of my book." He paused and assessed her face. "But now I doubt it with the look you're giving me. I know your skills match an Infiltrator's."

"I'd tell you my work as an assassin won't lose out to the best. The same could be said about Larceny. I know how to hold my own in a firefight. Still, not my best quality." She smiled, holding out a cookie in her hand. "Come on, I bet the investigator in you is just dying to crack this."

"I'm working on overload now, Rachel. But I have one guess."

"Shoot."

"I've always wondered how you managed to get along with people so well. My team mates have pointed out that you only talk to 'cool, ugly aliens.'" He let her have her laugh before he continued. His eyes had a glint in them that wasn't there before and his mandibles were tightly pressed together. "And it just didn't add up. Even Alenko who had aliens on his ship had made a lot of unintentionally xenophobic mistakes on the way. But you've managed to dodge all of those and all too well for a human anyway. Too knowledgeable about certain alien customs, the fact that you knew the inner workings of a turian ship too. When we re-met here you had been in Eclipse uniform too.

"So now I think you must have been a spy of some sort. Am I right?"

Her grin had been unintentionally wide and he cursed. "I scored highest in subterfuge, according to my mentor. It was my main job—but not the only one. I always play to my strengths. But I barely do that kind of work now. Mostly, it's short term. Infiltrate, make some noise or don't, depending on the job, and get out. Truthfully, I miss it a little: the mind games I'd have to play, the hours poured into research, people I had to pretend to be." Then she frowned. "Though I did regret how it affected my one serious relationship."

He sat up straight. "You don't have to talk about it if it's painful."

"It isn't. An old scar." She smiled, mimicking his earlier stance with her fingers laced and her chin resting on them. "But the reasons why we aren't together aren't important. It was how we did that might interest you."

"Really?"

"He was intelligent, skilled, in a lot of ways more dangerous and deadlier than I ever was."

"Sounds like your type."

"He fit right into the lifestyle and demands, yes." They shared a smile before she continued. "But, funnily enough he wanted to do things right. Very traditional, centuries old stuff—he serenaded me when he asked me if he could 'court me.'"

"I actually know what that is. I want to laugh but I don't think I should be laughing at happy memories, should I?"

"He had a lovely baritone voice. Frankly, I would have been happy if we just went to bed." She grinned. "He was way too nice for me."

He laughed, leaning back against the cushion of his seat. But the humor left his tone when he asked, "Doesn't sound like the type of relationship that would just fail. What happened?"

She smiled. "He had questioned my motivations for getting into the relationship, for staying in it. He thought I was just repaying debts to his family. Frankly, I think he was right."

"Hm. I know I said you're probably not the settling down type but I think he lucked out there, Rachel."

"Oh? You think so?" She said playfully.

Vakarian didn't look like he was playing at all though. "He would have had one great adventure had he stayed with you."

She felt herself taken aback, her mouth hanging open, intending to say something but instead she let it hang there until Vakarian, oblivious fool that he was, changed the subject while ordering himself another cup of coffee.

Oh well, Rachel thought. If she had told him that he had actually done something smooth then she wouldn't hear the end of it.

They didn't talk much about anything in particular after that. It seemed Vakarian was determined to keep the talk as light as possible and it was effective enough that Rachel had a hard time trying to excuse herself. There were conversations about weapons, weapon mods—sniper mods, particularly— some new tech Erash was trying to build from scratch and something Sensat said about her that was practically hero-worship. It wasn't about anything really, but she found herself talking, smiling, and even laughing.

She couldn't remember the last time she had coffee or a drink with anyone—not outside the missions and the relaying of Intel. Not without some affair. And on Christmas too. When was the last time she took a holiday? Never.

Not since she was sixteen and Lor was still around. They'd celebrated Christmas in their own way. She still had the collection of ornate blades he got her every year since she was nine and until she turned 16. They were tucked away safely in one of her safe houses on Kahje, along with other belongings she couldn't afford to lose and couldn't afford to bring. Every year before she turned 16, she had demonstrated her skills to him and every year she improved. Nothing had made Lor happier, he didn't care so much about getting anything material from her. But she had learned how to bake a cake when she was nine, a chocolate one that really put a smile on his face when he ate it. They had cake and blades and fights for Christmas, it was wonderful.

When Nalah saw her and Vakarian at one of the corner tables, sitting in front of each other with the remnants of the smoke from the cold coffee between them, she waddled her way there to say hello. Before she left, she gave Rachel a strange smile. "So, we're closing soon, Legacy. Have to get ready for the party. You're staying for that too, right?

"Party?" Rachel turned from Nalah to Vakarian whose mandibles twitched. "I don't think I remember getting invited to a party, Mrs. Butler."

"Nalah," The blond woman corrected her and gave Vakarian the fiercest glare she could muster. "Didn't Garrus invite you to their Christmas party?"

"Really?" Legacy blinked. "Your non-human teammates agreed to this?"

Vakarian reached for his cup and took a sip before answering. "It was Sensat's idea, actually."

She turned back to Nalah and shook her head. "I should get going then. I don't want to intrude."

Nalah pushed her down by the shoulder, back into the seat with surprising force. "Nonsense! Stay."

"I don't have any gifts for anyone, Mrs—I mean, Nalah."

"And they don't have anything for you, it's fine. Fine." One of her workers switched off their "open" sign and bid all of them good night before dashing out, smiling. "If you can help me in the kitchen, maybe? Garrus is supposed to help Frederic settle things here but the fool isn't back from getting the lights for the tree and the room. For a place like Omega, where you can find nearly everything from organs to oranges, it's just absurd that there are no Christmas lights."

"Frederic?"

Garrus coughed. "Butler's given name."

"Sounds almost dignified."

"I know. The man barely deserves it."

Nalah gave Vakarian a look, he stared back at her with something close to apologetic. Apparently, Nalah had some clout that Rachel hadn't figured she had in the Archangel team. Resigning, Rachel sighed, nodded, and allowed herself to be pulled into the kitchen.

"By the way," Rachel smiled at the other woman when she turned to look at her, frying pan in one hand, daring her to make some excuse to leave. "Do you have ingredients for a chocolate cake?"

* * *

"So," Sidonis said under his breath, eyes squinting at all the neon lights with inappropriate words and pictures like the figure of a human or asari in a provocative pose and one that said "Good time here" that Butler had put up instead of the Christmas. There was also some semblance of a tree—pine, Butler told Garrus earlier—but it was about three feet tall and flimsy looking, bowing to one side, and just waiting for its end. "This is Christmas."

"Correction, this is a hooker Christmas. We should shut these tacky lights and just use the ambient ones" Mierin set herself to work, ripping off the signs and switching the café lights on. "There."

"Hey!" Butler came back in from the kitchen. "It took a while for the boss and me to set those up!"

"I have no complaints." Shrugging, Garrus moved the tables together so they could form one big one. By this time, everyone had arrived save for Weaver. "I would have sabotaged them myself but Nalah was in here a minute ago and she loved them for some reason."

"She was being nice because she thought you liked them." Melanis muttered past her drink.

"You're joking."

Melanis tipped that last of her drink down her throat. "She must have a strange view of turians."

Garrus chuckled. When Weaver walked in, unapologetic in his stride and smile, Garrus cleared his throat to get the attention of his entire team. "Just to warn all of you—uh, we have a guest. Courtesy of Nalah so, please don't aim your pistols at me."

Sensat stood from her seat on the bar, positively jumping. "Is Legacy here?"

Butler grinned. "And without her mask. Let me tell you boys, she is one—"

"I'm what?"

Butler froze mid-sentence, mouth wide open as Rachel snuck behind him. She had two large plates of what looked like cake in each hand and an eyebrow arched up. "You were not about to say something the missus would disapprove of, were you?"

"Pssh. No. Legacy, haha. Of course not."

"She might need you in the kitchen, by the way. Maybe you should head there. Quickly."

"Of course, Legacy. Right away." He zoomed passed her and into the kitchen.

Garrus knew Rachel could barely contain her dark chuckle. Walking toward the table, she placed the cakes on the table and looked up at everyone in the room. Garrus noted how most of the team looked directly at her face. "The one on the right is levo."

"Um," Monteague cut in. Though even his embarrassment didn't stop him from studying her face. "Did you _bake_ these?"

She shifted her weight to one leg and leaned back, crossing her arms. "I promise that even if it may taste horrible, it probably won't kill you. Probably." She cleared her throat. "Sorry if I'm crashing your party but—Merry Christmas."

Erash was the first to approach it but then he tilted his head. "What is it?"

"Chocolate cake," Her expression became softer when he looked at it worriedly.

"How did you make a dextro one?"

"I've developed a tolerance for dextro—my body can easily flush it out." She shrugged. "It wouldn't do if I was incapacitated at a gathering if someone poured some tupari sports drink into my glass." She shot Garrus a meaningful glance, it would make sense if her spy work had led her deep into the Hierarchy where she may be forced to eat dextro food.

"Huh, and you actually know what we'd like to eat?" Melanis came forward, teeth bared. Garrus moved partly between them, in case she decided to do something rash. His movement didn't escape them and both women looked at him: one amused and the other embarrassed.

"I've spent a fair amount of time with turian companions. A few I can count as friends for life." She kept her arms crossed. Damn, now he regretted not asking her more about it while she was being chatty. "But if it worries you, you can abstain. No one said you can't reject the gifts you receive on Christmas."

With that Erash sliced into the cake and cut himself a piece. Everyone watched him, holding their breath when he took a bite and chewed. When he paused to swallow and quickly took another bite, everyone breathed out. So it was good, at least according to Erash and it was hard for him to be pleased about anything.

Slowly, his team got their own slices, took their first bite and were all pleasantly surprised by how good it tasted. Garrus himself was tempted to take a bite but held himself in check.

Rachel, of course, took notice. "Afraid I'd kill you on Christmas day, Archangel?"

He gave her a turian equivalent of a smile. "It wouldn't be fair if I got two gifts instead of one."

Rachel eyebrows rose at this. "And what makes you think I got you a gift, Vakarian?"

"Intuition." He paused. "That and I got you something so it would be rude of you not to try."

She chuckled softly. "If you don't at least try it, I think your second-in-command might wharf your share down."

He looked at the half eaten dextro cake and the nearly finished levo version and cut himself a thin slice. Quickly, since she was watching him and he was nervous just thinking about it, he popped most of it in his mouth. His eyes closed in bliss and he hummed.

"That good, huh?"

"You could have probably made a killing selling this in Palaven. No more of this assassin thing."

"Chocolate cake is the only thing I can make. And it took me years to learn it." She gave him a small smile and the twitch of her eyes made him read her as nervous. "Cooking is not one of those gifts I have, I'm afraid."

"Why'd you learn to make cake?"

It was that look in her eyes, that far away sort of look that Sensat was probably talking about a week ago. She was—as humans said, looking far away—like a scene he couldn't see was unfolding before her. "It was my _Abrul_ 's favourite food."

"Sorry, I think my translator just glitched. Your what?"

She turned swiftly to him, a little wide eyed as if she was caught doing something wrong. Krul was apparently nearby and heard because he walked closer to them with his hands folded across his chest.

" _Abrul_ very old language that's been outdated. Means," Krul's eyes turned to Rachel, who looked down and away. "Father, mentor, creator. It's very reverent and very warm. But mostly used now as code by Spec Ops to indicate the head of a squad." He nodded, mostly to himself it seemed. "The dots have connected now. The way you were able to fix that bomb. Did someone from the STG train you?"

"Krul, I don't think—"

"Boss, very important we don't forget who it is that we put our faith in and who we should rely on. We must not mix up the two." Krul left it unsaid but it was clear. They knew next to nothing about Legacy or Rachel. Not even her real name. But even Krul seemed to realize how sensitive the topic is because he didn't raise his voice, and save their sombre expressions, no one would be able to tell what they were speaking about. "It's important we know more about her. Leverage."

"Krul," Garrus growled and drew himself up to full height. "This isn't the time to—"

"No, not STG." She looked up at them but she drew back. "Don't ask me anymore."

"So, if not STG then something older and darker." His eyes were wide and glowing. "Connection to Dr. Solus is through this _Abrul_ too." When she stared at him, saying nothing—Krul almost took a step back at the way her fingers twitched at her sides. "I see."

"I should go." Rachel gave Garrus an apologetic smile, but there was something sharp and dangerous glinting in her eyes. When she reached out and touched his arm, she drew back as if she'd been burned. "I left your gift in the kitchen."

"Stay. I haven't given you yours yet."

"No need, Vakarian." She said in a very low voice and shrugged. She gave a nod to Erash who turned at the sudden hush of silence and Sensat who was just about to walk up to her to talk. "I need to visit the doctor anyway."

She walked briskly, so fast that Butler and Nalah didn't notice her pass them when they opened the door.

Butler's face was bright. "So, what did I miss?"

* * *

"You were careless."

"I know, doctor."

"Stress is probably making you—this."

Rachel sighed when he motioned at all of her. "Yeah."

Mordin sniffed and handed her a slightly long, wrapped up box. "Lor would be very disappointed."

"Yeah." She took and studied the wrapper intently. Who knew Mordin would be in to polka dots?

"But, I think it's healthy."

"Yeah—what?" She looked up from her seat, blinking.

"Healthy for you to have peers your age. Humans are social creatures. Need more contact with other people. But, must not reveal too much about past. Could get ugly."

"Which is why I should avoid people in the first place, doctor."

"Choose people you can trust. You're good at that."

"I'd just let them down."

"You? Disappoint? Never."

She gave him a smile, though she strained not to. Then, she stared back down at her gift. "Can I open it?"

"Yes, would like to see your face when you do. Take pictures."

"Don't you dare."

He was already reaching for a camera inside one of his drawers and he pulled it out with a huge smile. "Can't make me. It's Christmas."

Rachel's smile turned into a grin. She had dashed here from the party, while Mordin had been busy adjusting his staff to the new shifts. He'd banished her into his office until he came through, her face buried in her hands and her breath shallow. Muttering to herself that someone could find out who she was, someone could find out and then she'd have to kill him because she probably wouldn't be able to stop them from revealing her secret. She wouldn't want that person to be Krul or Vakarian. She had let her guard down and for such a stupid reason—she didn't want to think of the implications of that reason, not now.

Sighing, her hands were shaking a little as she removed the atrocious yellow bow and then tore off the polka dotted wrapper to open the box. She gasped as she pulled it out. "Is this a mod for my sword?"

"Yes. Barely legal tech. Had to make it discreetly. Like it?"

"I love it." She looked at him and then closed her eyes.

"Least I could do. For the daughter of an old friend." He smiled and then dangled the gift she gave him. Also another barely legal piece of tech that would improve his experimentation work exponentially, especially with how outdated the machines were in the clinic. "And for this. Do I want to know how you got it?"

"You'd be scared."

He smiled and then gave her hand a pat. "When you meet someone great for you, your life will change. Definitely. Trust will come easier, connections not as painful. In the meantime, I can be your only friend."

She grinned and leaned down on her elbow, her head tilted. "Selfish."

"I try. Salarians don't live long. Should spend it with people I like." He opened a bottle of Thessian plum wine and its scent spread throughout the room. She remembered Liara again, how often she used to go for a drink when she had a bad day (or a really good one). It made Rachel smile.

He handed her a glass of the wine and poured himself some. "Merry Christmas," He paused. "Shepard."

She beamed back, toasting their glasses together with a clink. "Merry Christmas, Mordin."

Edited 5.20.2014


	12. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whut, a new chapter? Salmon, you shouldn't have!"
> 
> Yes, a new chapter. And yes, I should. It's an interlude for a reason, though. It's not entirely plot related but it will be referenced throughout the story. Christmas day didn't exactly fit a normal chapter but it was good for some development so do read it. I thought people would be pissed if they waited for a week though and got an Interlude. (LOL, I'd be pretty pissed.) As I am leaving again for a week or so (yes, another delay). Don't expect a chapter until next, next week.
> 
> All in Erash's POV, told in third person limited (my favorite, as you will notice, of my invented Archangel gang personas).
> 
> This is dedicated to the, 112+ steady readers out there (both in ff and AO3). You guys are the most awesome, please keep on reading.
> 
> To BlackStarAura, who makes me laugh with a review- thank you for making my day.
> 
> And to Primordial Soul who never fails to review and give sage advice- many, many warm and heartfelt thanks.

**Interlude I: Christmas Dinner**

"Oh my god, the boss is acting like someone just died." Mierin muttered sadly. Erash had chosen to give her a moment of his attention before he went back to getting more of the cake, making sure Grundan wouldn't figure out that he had finished it.

Erash was worried about his boss though and he turned all four of his eyes to the now sullen turian. His boss' eyes which had been clear and bright were now evasive -darting back and forth so as not to let the shadows settle there. His entire stance which had been relaxed was now slumped. Batarians had always been keen on the language of the body, even the ones of other species. Though, unlike the others, Erash understood that there was no Galactic Standard meaning on every twitch, and that no, other races do not mean to offend when they tilt their heads.

"Krul, what happened?" There was obvious distress in the asari's voice as Sensat put a hand on the salarian's shoulder and shook it.

Krul shook his head. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it, I'm afraid. Shouldn't have brought it up at all but the opportunity had presented itself." He cleared his throat. "A wasted effort. I have confirmed nothing."

Mierin and Sensat shared a horrified look, as if Krul had done the most "inhumane" thing in the galaxy. Erash merely nodded, it might have been paid with a great amount of emotional distress but if Krul had deemed it necessary then it probably had to be done. For safety, maybe? Or maybe it was a precaution to the danger Legacy poses, even if she was obviously not a hostile. Not that Krul would know that, he was just a salarian.

"Hmph. She shouldn't have been here in the first place." Melanis, who barely took much of the cake, growled. Erash could tell it was mainly the dislike for the cook that stayed her hand rather than for the cake itself. The batarian had admitted whole heartedly that he would gladly had the levo one all to himself. Shifting her gaze between all of them, Melanis squared her shoulders and headed toward the boss with the determination and stride of a soldier.

"She's going to have her heart crushed when she tells him." Erash stated.

"Erash!" Sensat half-whispered and half yelled as she took a glance at Melanis. The female turian had one hand on her hip and tried her best to coax some cheer out of the boss, instead, she managed only a half-amused chuckle and all-around confusion. Well, at least she was trying. "You don't know. Maybe the boss can come to like her."

"Don't pretend to be stupid, asari." He scoffed back, shoveling the last piece of cake into his mouth and chewing it with a vengeance. "You know the boss has no feelings for anyone, not right now."

"What are we gossiping about?" Weaver poked his head in between Mierin and Sensat. His eyes were bright and twinkling. Erash curbed the urge to poke them out of existence. "Is it how mopey the boss is now that the _very_ fine Legacy has walked out?"

"Thanks for not dirtying this, Weav." Mierin rubbed her eyes and then tipped the contents of her very strong smelling drink. Erash wasn't sure how she could stand the stuff and how she wasn't already dead drunk on the floor.

The infiltrator shrugged. "If you want to be serious, all you have to do is ask." He turned to where the boss and Melanis were, the latter's effort going to waste as the boss' eyes grew more and more glassy. Weaver winced. "I hope the boss let's her down easy.

"Why is everyone so sure that he won't grow to like her?" Sensat crossed her arms. "Mel is a fine girl and she suits the boss really well."

"If the boss really wanted fine and well-suited then he would have went back to Palaven and enjoyed the life of a rock star." Weaver crossed his arms, mimicking the asari's stance while raising an eyebrow at her. "Instead, he's here at the ass end of the galaxy. Something tells me the boss likes them exotic." He smiled. "An asari maybe, or a feisty quarian like in the romcoms."

"Or, Legacy." Erash couldn't understand the jaw-dropped reaction everyone had at those words. He shrugged, figuring that none of them saw what he saw. "She challenges boss—he thinks her his better. He seems to like that, it makes him try harder." He paused. "And he laughs a lot when she's around."

"And she could kill him in his sleep." Mierin shook her head. "I do _not_ approve of this pairing. Scratch it out."

"I dunno." Weaver's eyes sparkled. "I think Legacy and the boss would go really well together. At least before they killed each other. Hm, has a nice ring to it. Legacy and Archangel. Together: Glarch."

"I've heard my own fart sound better than that." Grundan entered into their little circle, he too glanced at the pair of turians in the other side of the room. "That's not going to end well, is it?"

"Hmph. I think they'll be fine." Sensat looked away, still pouting.

"You just want Legacy for yourself, asari." Erash rolled all four of his eyes when Sensat's blue skin darkened. "I'm all for Glarch."

"Can we change this name, please?" Mierin pleaded.

Shrugging, Weaver huffed. "It was either that or Legangel."

"Jeez, you're useless."

"Thanks, Mei."

"Oh hell," Vortash, who had probably been eavesdropping, ran into the circle and leaned heavily against Mierin and Weaver. "Shit is about to go down. Sidonis at their five."

"Fuck, quick, Krul—damage control." Weaver pushed the salarian towards the group of turians. Krul looked both confused and scared—very rare traits for the proud salarian. But the new approaching figure made Weaver pull him back towards the group. "Wait, Nalah is on it."

Vortash sighed. "Man, I wanted a throw down."

"Not on Christmas, Vor." Mierin hit him lightly on the shoulder. All of them stared wide eyed as Nalah, fearless and unabashed, joined the turians. Her blue eyes were attentive and her gold hair glowed against the lights. Erash liked the woman, had been endeared by her strength. Most days he wondered how Butler had managed to win her over and marry her. He had always thought she must have gotten the shorter end of the stick or had been tricked into it.

"Alright, everyone," Butler clapped his hands together. "I think it's important that other than distributing the gifts—we should have the boss open all of his in front of us and then shamelessly make fun of him for it!"

The humans gave a collective cheer and the boss groaned but didn't stop any of them as they started distributing the gifts the team had set aside when they entered. Erash had been baffled by the idea of gift giving, nothing in his home world had a similar equivalent save for the first gift given when one was born- the only gift given. He settled instead for giving them weapon and shield mods, save for the boss whom he took a great amount of time assembling something expensive and useful.

Back on Khar'shan, the type of gift given at one's birth was dependant on one's caste. For the rich it was usually something made of expensive ore—a platinum image of Balag, the all-seeing god or an ornate knife of plutonium. For the middle class, it could be a gold image of Shira, protector of the faithful or jewelry made from cobalt and titanium that one could wear around the neck.

For the slave castes however, it was the clothes passed down from their parents. Old rags stained with mud and blood. Erash himself had received the bloodied pants of his father, who had died the day before he was born from the lashings of their master. He remembered clearly as his mother clung and sang and wept—and in their harsh and brittle tongue, had told him that this was a slave's destiny.

Fuck that, Erash thought. He knew no caste. Not when he knew he was intelligent and gifted. His master's children struggled with school but Erash stole what he could and read and learned. The broken scraps of household tools and old tech he pilfered from rubbish piles he had used to build, re-build, and then tear down to start anew. His mother feared for herself, that he was overstepping the boundaries given to them as slaves.

So he wasn't surprised when the Hegemony's henchmen came to take him away, and he saw his mother cower in the corner saying "Sorry, sorry, sorry" over and over again in the same way she had told him that he was his father's son and a slave's son was a slave for life.

He found himself in Omega, running away from the Hegemony, learning how easily he could kill a batarian by knowing where to hurt him. Killing other races came later, but killing his own kind became child's play. Most Batarians feared for their eyes, sometimes more than death because it was the eyes that was the channel which allowed the soul to travel to the Afterlife.

"Are you afraid of blindness more than death?" Legacy had asked him once through the comm. He was assembling his gift to the boss and he asked her for her help in finding some key parts. She had generously provided him a good seller and her own discount.

But in the middle of their assembling, she had asked him, tested him—he knew she was trying to discern what kind of person he was by the answer he would give her.

He could lie, he told himself. She'd have this idea of him in her head that was false and for him that was a thrill, to know he had an edge over someone as smart as Legacy. Nonetheless, he felt that she would know and her disappointment would be a wound he would rather live without.

"If you're asking me if I'd rather die with my eyes open. Then, yes."

"Why?"

"Because," He attached the intricate part of his new tech, watched the chips and wires piece together and churn into life. "I want to see the fucker who took my life. Burn his memory into my eyes and dig his grave in the afterlife beside me."

She made an affirmative sound, neither a pleased nor displeased sound. Her body language betrayed nothing through the holo and she had simply resumed helping him build his new piece of equipment.

Around him now, the team moved chairs and gifts and settled their presents in front of the boss whose earlier sadness had given way to embarrassment judging by the way his talons were twitching on the table. Nalah pushed him down to sit (she didn't look strong but she was very, very strong. Even Grundan had winced when they had played a human game called "arm wrestling".) to be the only one to open his gifts in front of them.

"Uh, why am I the only one who has to do this?"

"Because," Butler rolled his eyes. "You're the one everyone has the most gratitude and _lurve_ for. I think it's only fair that we see whether or not you like what we gave you." Then Butler's eyes narrowed and his voice deepened. "And you better like them."

"Butler," Sidonis warned. His subharmonics pinched with annoyance. The human just grinned back. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to boss."

"You're just saying that because you gave the boss something military-ish and turian. In other words, boring." Butler wasn't expecting Sidonis' mouth to open and show a feral grin. Butler was ready to open his mouth to say something else but—

"Now, dear, let's not be so antagonistic during Christmas. Come on, sir," Nalah's hand was a light pat on the boss's shoulder, a warm and solid assurance that all was right in the galaxy so long as he listened to what she said (and Erash had no doubts that everyone believed it). "Open the one from Fredric and I first, for starters. On the right with the red ribbon."

He reached for it immediately (not without snickers and amused whispers about Butler's first name) and proceeded to carefully peel off the layer of wrappings around the box. Everyone made a collective sound of awe at the gift.

"I heard it's hard to find anywhere else and they don't make it the same otherwise." Nalah's smile was wide. "And, Butler had said you had once complained about craving Cipritine Chocolate before."

"This is a huge box though!" Garrus exclaimed, obviously impressed with the way he looked around the gold wrapping. "And expensive." Then he coughed. "And my favorite."

"It's nothing in comparison to what you've managed to accomplish, boss. For what you've done for Nalah and I, for Omega." Butler said with a nod in a strangely serious tone Erash had only heard during firefights and missions. "If a little chocolate makes you happy then by all means we'll provide."

The boss' content hum was all the thanks the couple needed, his flickering eyes made it obvious that he was embarrassed by Butler's honest words and couldn't respond in kind without ruining the moment. Trust the boss to know at least that much about his surroundings in the social sphere. Then, Nalah's wide smile—both grateful and mischevious - was displayed for all to see when she said: "Don't you think it's an odd coincidence that all Legacy knows how to make is chocolate related? She told me too that even the coffee she knows the proportions to are mocha flavored."

Erash wanted to burst out laughing in triumphant glee at the faces of the people he was talking to earlier. Let them see that the wonderful Nalah also thought they went well together, even if this information just flew right by the boss' head. Though not Melanis' as she sent a glare towards Nalah's general direction (she wouldn't dare spare an evil thought on the woman herself, not directly anyway).

It was no surprise how well everyone knew the boss, after that. Vortash had given him fancy arm guards that would help with the strain of holding the rifle. Sensat and Mierin had combined their purchase and had gotten the boss a new and better set of armor in the color of his clan markings, which fit well with what Vortash's gift (the boss looked like he was about to cry, probably remembering his own family in Palaven). Krul's had been a book, a human book, on human idioms that should now stop escaping the boss all the time. Trust the salarian to give something educational. Next was Ripper's, whom everyone was expecting to gift something embarrassing but which turned out to be a subscription to an extranet music store, he did it all by pointing smugly at the boss's visor with a proud "You need your sounds updated, every once in a while."

Weaver's gift was a set of very ornate knives which left the boss staring in wonder for a long time. Weaver had apparently sharpened and shaped them himself (who knew the idiot was surprisingly talented). Grundan, being the warmest and the most considerate of all of them bought the boss bracers for his spurs—the boss blinked at them and Grundan had muttered that he had seen the boss struggling with his injury even after all the time that's past. Everyone glared at the boss and he all but looked away to open the next gift with a quick thanks. Monteague had given him a sniper mod, an expensive and rare mod that would increase the damage of his rifle by at least 75%. That had everyone surprised and that he had to laugh them off because everyone knew he must have spent a lot of money to get it—money he shouldn't have because how much could a vigilante make?

"I had a lot saved up from the old days." The man scratched the back of his head and smiled. "Really, boss. Don't worry about it. I know you'll put it to good use."

"Damn, bro. That's better than what you gave me." Butler whistled and the boss just looked more embarrassed and reached for the next present.

"That's from me." Melanis said softly, which never happened except when she was talking to the boss. The boss unraveled the gift slowly as it was wrapped poorly and it was hard to discern where to start. But Melanis had tried and her fidgeting was obvious. Erash supposed that if Glarch (shit, they needed to change the name) didn't turn out then the boss may very well end up with Melanis.

The boss, along with everyone else was confused though when he opened it to find a black cube, no larger than a turian's hand. It was shiny and clean, practically ominous in its presence until Erash himself figured out what it was and hummed in approval. "A field simulator. Does it have the latest program?"

"Of course," Melanis cocked a hip to the side and crossed her arms. "Wouldn't be as effective otherwise, the rest would be considered liars next to this model."

The boss blinked rapidly as he figured out what it was well. Opening his omni-tool and linking them together, he typed down a hypothetical situation and loaded his own stats in. A holo then came out to show that he would manage a perfect headshot despite the five click distance, wind speed, and the stampede of klixen making their way towards him from a hundred metre distance. The group laughed and Melanis managed a soft "Show-off" before punching him in the arm.

The boss picked out Erash's gift before Sidonis' and Erash felt the rush of blood as he opened it slowly, aware that it must be some kind of delicate piece of tech (though it wasn't, couldn't be, because he wanted the boss to take it with him to battle). He gasped audibly when he saw it in the box and fished it out to put it against the light. Everyone else besides Weaver (who looked at it enviously) were confused.

"All those improvements you wanted for your visor, sir. I figured you wouldn't let anyone else touch it, so the instructions and parts are all there."

"Above and beyond the improvements I wanted." The boss laughed. "So, this is what you and Legacy were talking about late at night? I doubt you'd know what I wanted unless you were there at the grueling fight."

Erash shrugged. "She offered her assistance, yes. She also said that your model needed to be updated. And something about kicking your ass if she didn't show a little mercy."

The boss laughed again. "Says the one who got the head injury." Then some small flash of pain revealed itself in his eyes and he sighed. "Stupid, difficult human." He muttered while reaching for the final gift, which everyone was sure was going to be some kind of turian thing like tech or bullet mods. The boss seemed to think so even as he opened the box and looked inside—

And just stared for a second before shutting it quickly. No one got to see it because the boss turned a laughing and yet angry face towards his second-in-command. "You can't be serious."

Sidonis crossed his arms. "Oh, I am very serious, Garrus." The only one in the whole squad who called the boss by his first name, and the only one who had expressed permission although the boss had never told the group otherwise - he never corrected anyone off mission when they didn't refer to him with his given name. He was just 'boss' to everyone else.

"What's in—"

The boss immediately put his hand over the box when Nalah tried to reach for it. She puffed her cheeks a little but even that didn't move him. "Sorry, Nalah—it's classified." He turned back to Sidonis. "I can't believe you."

"What? Everyone thought I was going to get you something boring and turian. But all of them got you all the boring stuff and I got you something you can enjoy for the next year—"

"Okay, now we really have to know what's in there." Weaver moved to swipe it but the boss was fast enough to snatch it into his arms.

"Um, as nice as it would be to show you all—I'd be embarrassed to show it in front of Nalah. If you get my meaning."

Sidonis chuckled. "Clue: it's a subscription to something fun. Plus a few copies as an extra bonus."

"Ah." Erash shook his head.

"Well, shit." Ripper got it right away and laughed. "Hope you share the blessing by giving us the extra copies, boss. Preferably unopened."

"Wait, what is it?" Nalah asked again and the boss had to look away.

"Hey, how come you're embarrassed to show Nalah and not us?" Mierin glared and the boss coughed. Lifting the box above his head as Nalah had started to jump. "We're women too."

"Yeah, but Nalah is a lady—Ow! The fuck woman!" Vortash rubbed the arm she punched. "Would you stop hitting me? It's Christmas night!"

Then Nalah gasped and the room stopped. She put her hands to her mouth and began to giggle. "I get it! It's porn, isn't it?"

"Shit, Nalah just said the word porn." Monteague breathed dramatically.

The woman in question huffed. "Of course I can say the word porn, James. I live in Omega!" There were all around snickers at Monteague's first name. Nalah ignored them and crossed her arms. "Tell me, is it Fornax? That stuff is vanilla. If you want the real stuff, just ask."

"God, she is Butler's wife!" Weaver wept in his hands and Butler rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing. Maybe now Erash could accept why she and "Fredric" married after all.

Nalah squeaked an "Oh!" before running off for the kitchen. All eyes were on her when she came back with another gift that she carried with relative ease despite the fact that it was likely to be in a weapon case. "From Legacy. I think you should open it! I really wanna know what she gave you."

Garrus laughed as she set it down heavily against the table. They were all sure it was a weapon by the way it was wrapped and by how heavy it looked in its blue and silver wrapping. The boss' hand lingered on it, tracing it slowly as his eyes glowed in anticipation and his visor worked on trying to solve its mysteries without having to unwrap it. He plucked the card that was there and read it aloud: "To Vakarian: don't try to guess. It's a prototype. Schematics were from a mutual friend."

That's when the boss couldn't hold on to his excitement and had to tear it open. There wasn't any of the earlier softness or the grace he used to open the other gifts. He needed to know what was inside. Erash knew the boss had been itching for the new M-97 Viper or the M-29 Incisor but no one in the group had the credits for those and the boss knew it. He'd had waited for the prices to go down before going in to bid for a secondhand one. When he clicked the case open though, the gun that was there made even Erash take a step back.

"Boss, that gun looks way better than the one you put a bid for in the market."

The boss laughed, picking up the gift with sure hands. Its name had been engraved on the left, "Indra." He took one of the thermal clips it came with (at least standard sniper bullets fit in there so it wasn't too altered) and clicked it into place before looking at Butler. The man gave him the thumbs up and before anyone knew it, the boss had aimed at a row of dusty mugs displayed on a shelf and took them all out in a line of powerful and rapid bullets. The boss clicked off the thermal clip with another solid movement and smiled. "Legacy. It's like she could read my mind."

"Damn." Butler whistled. And his sentiment was felt by everyone in the café. It was a superb gun and it was being handled by a superb shot. "I have got to get me some rich friends."

"You know what it means when a girl gets a guy a gun?" Nalah's tone sounded like she was about to make a joke but it was probably because she was so giddy that her face was red and her eyes glowed.

The boss bit, though. "What?"

Nalah smirked. "She thinks hers is bigger."

"Oh god," Groans echoed all around the room and Mierin just looked up in resignation. "Please, stop trying to remind us that you're Butler's wife, Nalah!"

The boss, recovering from Nalah's confession, coughed to get the attention of his team. "Thank you. For all of this, really. You didn't have to."

"We did, boss." Grundan said without muttering. "Without you our lives right now would have been completely different, in the worst way."

"You deserve all our thanks." Sensat put a hand to her heart. "Thank you for everything, boss."

Sidonis lifted a drink and everyone followed suit when he said, "To Archangel. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" They clinked glasses, as the humans had taught them to do. There was laughter and big smiles and dirty jokes - the way Archangel should spend a gift giving holiday, and preferably every day after. Erash noted the way the boss still hung back though, periodically glancing at Legacy's gift and patting it gently all through the evening, sometimes even mid-conversation.

Maybe, in the future Erash would talk to the boss about what he thought about Legacy. But for now, it was Christmas and it was Archangel's time. The boss didn't need those thoughts now.


	13. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for the love you have showered on my version of Archangel's team. I realized that I don't need two weeks to get my stuff together and that I needed to post this asap. I promise there will be more of them Archangel in the future. Right now though, the plot moves on.
> 
> A little more of Shepard here and an idea of what she did for the Alliance (and even before then).
> 
> Please do leave a comment or a kudos to let me know what you think. See you next week!

**Chapter 11**

A week had past and she looked at her omni-tool for the _n_ th time. Nothing from Vakarian; he was probably avoiding her. Nonetheless, she had spent her Betau with Mordin and felt happy to be with someone who knew her and could take care of himself if shit hit the fan.

"Shepard," Mordin had said.

"Yes, doctor?"

"Stim overuse. Catastrophic consequences. Hate seeing you overwork yourself. It is… problematic."

She sighed. "I know, doctor. But this mission required I use a few rusty skills. I'll get some decent rest afterwards."

"Very well. However, will regulate dosage from now on. No dipping hands into my reserves without permission. Consider your debt repaid."

She sighed again. "Fine."

They clinked glasses and talked about nothing. Although Rachel knew that worried look in Mordin's eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. Really, she wasn't a child anymore.

Salarians and their need to be nosy, damn them. Not that she could blame Krul for asking. But damn him still. She could use some humor from Vakarian right about now but he had stopped his messages.

Since it wasn't Rachel's style to reach out, she didn't try to contact Vakarian either. It would probably mean he was still awkward about what happened and she didn't want him to think that he did anything wrong either. But every time she got the quad to start typing a simple status report, something always got in the way. That one time she was in one of the outposts when Blood Pack decided to show up and cause some trouble (she diffused it with a threat and showed them an example of what she would do to them if they didn't follow. They fell in line quick enough.).

Another time, right when she was about to type the first word, Mordin had called her in to help out in the clinic in exchange for another biology lesson which was immensely helpful because she didn't know much about vorcha and she wanted to get to know how to efficiently kill them with her blade as soon as possible. It was a rare, late night invite and she had jump at it (screw rest, she could do it when she was dead).

Now, she had just returned from a tiring mission after gathering a weeks' worth of Intel. She got herself employed with Harrot ("Disgusted beyond belief: I suppose you'll do, human.") who needed someone to move cargo to and from the Emporium's storage room with some efficiency without Harrot having to leave the kiosk unattended. She was pretending to be a shivering, tiny human with blonde hair and doe brown eyes whom she named Julie Mayfield. Julie's resume read that she had been an orphan and had worked a few jobs spinning around poles in Afterlife's VIP section and whose rent had just skyrocketed high enough that she needed a day job just to get by.

Sure, Julie got groped when she left the counter at times but nothing that she couldn't deflect (Julie was a dancer, she knew how to wiggle her way out—knew it all her life— other aspects of her life, however, made her shiver) or that Harrot himself didn't intervene (at least he didn't permit this sort of behavior at his stall).

And the vorcha were important customers, back door customers as they were since Harrot didn't allow them near his kiosk but he charged them exuberantly for cheap products beyond second hand. Julie Mayfield was there during every transaction, dumb and inattentive. She sometimes seemed so spaced out that had Harrot to narrating that he was "yelling vehemently." But Legacy cataloged all she heard behind the stupid glassy eyes of Julie— all the places Vorcha ventured in Omega, all the people they would meet and where. When Julie left and Legacy came back, she tagged all the locations in a map and came up with 30 different hovel locations for vorcha—all of which she was sure Aria had no censure of (which she should, despite her distaste for the species).

They were relatively close to each other, Rachel noted, and so she knew that wherever their new meeting location was would not be far from the places they claimed as their own. She visited these locations, studied them as a shadow would. A human would stand out near vorcha but when she was nobody then nobody noticed she was there.

Vorcha, they seemed to be crawling everywhere but this wasn't true. They were too noticeable to be anywhere near upperclass wards, if spotted they would be thrown out and spat at. A congregation of them would be noticed the same way an anthill mound would be on short, even grass. They needed to go somewhere where their numbers could gather without suspicion and where their presence would only be sniffed at and ignored.

Tracking down the vorcha had been—foul, to say the least. She had made her way into a warehouse in the Fumi District—whose downtown areas had been vorcha infested, a location she had deduced after several weeks of running around and ignoring Aria (she had disabled the tracking and comm systems while she was on her hunts). She watched like a Citadel duct rat, hiding undercover with a mask and indistinct armor. She watched as they gathered and snarled and hissed at each other.

Before them stood a leader, he seemed no different than the others as she studied him carefully. There was nothing on the face or eyes that would have made him stand out, but compared to any other vorcha, she did see that his weapons had been modded beyond compare and was more expensive than the mere butter knives everyone else was wielding. This, she thought, must be whom the vorchas and Harrot referred to as _Griog_ e, or leader.

Rachel had to roll her eyes at their choice, strength based on tools was no strength at all—Lor had never said that but he implied it with everything he taught her, in every way he drilled her to be better, smarter, faster.

After a while, however, a pair of aliens showed up. The stuff of nightmares, conventional households would think. But they were beings she'd encountered only once before, fleeting and circumstantial in a mission back at the Citadel. Collectors. She would probably have to save pictures of them to confirm but everything in her gut boiled down to that certainty. That the vorcha and the Collectors were congregating; that was all she needed to know. She listened and recorded as the _Grioge_ said a lot of political nonsense, as they discussed their plan to take over Omega in very general terms.

"Hm, this is more serious than we originally thought." She was now in the Patriarch's private apartment in the uptown area of Kenzo, as Legacy visiting the krogan warlord too often in Afterlife would make Aria suspicious. Patriarch had his hands at his sides as he sat on the couch and she stood in front of him, leaning back on one leg. He looked up at her with sage and tamed eyes: strange on a krogan, Rachel thought, but fitting at the same time. "Aria never cared much for these things but the vorcha can be frightening. We see their brutal effectiveness in the Blood Pack every day."

"The implications too." She nodded at the krogan. Their business relationship had transcended, somewhat. She found him interesting, talked too much sometimes but nonetheless, she could see the old fire Aria had tried to snuff out when she kept him as a pet. Nonetheless, he held himself as respectably as he could, given his circumstance. "Collector involvement makes this the stuff of nightmares."

"Yes, Aria hates them on Omega. She will want to know." He nodded. "I'm guessing you want something from me after all this?"

She smiled. "I know what equal exchange means. When I've done a few more jobs for you, Patriarch. Then we can talk about how you can help me."

"Huh." He leaned back, eyes now sharp, more krogan-like in its ferocity that she grinned back. "For Legacy's lackey, you've got some quad. What makes you think I'll help you?"

"It involves leaving Omega for an extended period of time. I'm sure you've resented my place at Aria's side. You can help me get where I need to go."

He bristled at that and huffed, dismissing her with a card of credits and the flicking of his hands towards the door without a single word.

With all the days of work, it was good to be finally heading to her own apartment now. Hers was at the uptown of Gozu called Zeta, part commercial and expensive. It was cleaner than most parts of Omega and had enough humans in it that she didn't stand out.

Now, nothing could stop her from finally sending that status report to Vakarian. And she didn't want to make any more excuses by acting like a baby. There were dangers if her secrets were revealed, she knew. She'd seen it firsthand and had done it firsthand. But Mordin said that she should trust her instincts, and her instincts told her that Vakarian wouldn't betray her if she had to tell him; even if it was just some of it, just so the tension would ease away. This was her resolve, now. She would send him a message, tell him her status report—and ask if they could meet up and see how it went.

She knew the price she would have to pay if those instincts were wrong though. And shit, the mere thought made her hands shake as she reactivated her omni-tool to start a message.

"That wasn't your fault, Shepard." She remembered Sara of the Dominion. Her name had been stripped from her like the other seven people who had accepted their posts. It was short for Saragael, the name they gave to the team's tech expert. "The Alliance—no one would expect them to give you that order."

"But she was just a child," When Rachel was still Shepard she had buried her head in her hands and sobbed. "I did what I did to her—no one told me to do it."

"We're with you, Commander," Sara put her hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you decide, we're with you."

That decision was clear, the Dominion was gone and all her friends—people she considered to be family and more, were all over the place. Now Rachel was alone. Steadily making her way up her apartment as her fingers typed down a message she intended to send to Vakarian.

When she got to her floor, however, she heard the distinct white noise from tech and paused. She knew there wasn't supposed to be that kind of noise here. She took a tentative step forward and cussed at the distinct blipping of a mine.

She tumbled down the stairs, protecting her head as mine after mine tore down her entire floor. As a result, her omni-tool fizzled and died at the impact of the explosion. She wouldn't have any access to her tech skills now and she cussed in her thoughts.

No time to dust off, she rolled and got on her all fours before pushing herself off the ground and flipping down two floors below her own. Making her way to the end of the hall, she broke through the windows there to make it down the emergency staircase.

There stood a man, masked behind his helmet, wearing Alliance colors of blue and grey, waiting for her. She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Hello, Shepard."

His blade came at her and she flipped back to dodge. "Quicker than I thought. This chase will be interesting. He said he wanted you back alive but I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I couldn't kill _the_ Shepard."

She studied his armor quickly and saw the distinctive insignia in the predominantly black armor and hissed. A white sword within a sphere, an insignia that didn't mean much to too many people—those who found out were already dead. Normally, it wouldn't be worn during missions and only during diplomatic occasions but maybe in a way, meeting her had its own form of diplomacy. "What's your position?"

"I am Hashmal, the name they didn't even grant you. The head of the Dominion." He brought out his arc pistol and it charged threateningly when he held the trigger. "Let's play."

He was probably expecting her to flip back and evade the bullet, but she remembered how surprised she was when Vakarian charged at her, leg broken, and she pushed off the ground. Ramming into the startled assassin, they both fell several stories high and into one of the better built shops down below that broke their fall.

Rachel rolled out quickly, dodging past people and turning corners as the explosion had drawn a crowd towards the apartment. The assassin was right behind her, gun in hand, drawing so much attention that she wanted to roll her eyes. Sloppy. Just who was teaching the Dominion now? He signaled at someone beside him and another one with the insignia came out from hiding on her left, likely to be Zadkiel, the name for the recon scout of the squad.

When she rounded one corner, breaking sight from her pursuer, she felt a chill behind her. Sure enough, someone grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the darkness.

* * *

Garrus was in the middle of typing down a message to Tali, avoiding the message he really wanted to type and the person he really wanted to send it to. When he'd stop to wait for Tali's reply his talons would reach for the case of his new sniper rifle.

For the first time, he damned his own teammate for making this awkward for him. How do you apologize for someone else when you barely know how to do it for yourself? Damn Krul, he thought over and over as he stared up at the light. That little bit about her past; he could have waited till she was willing to tell him. Instead, now he was stuck with all these unanswered questions. Rachel never pried about anything from his past, it just wasn't fair.

He was replying to another message of Tali's: asking where he was and if he was doing anything stupid, like the bosh'tet he apparently was when Melanis walked into the dorms, hand resting on one hip.

"Messaging your Legacy?"

He looked up from his omni-tool, wary of her angry tone. "My Legacy?"

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, something Garrus had never seen her do. "Aren't the two of you—together?"

He looked back, startled. "Melanis, where is all of this coming from?"

"The party was almost a week ago and I haven't heard you laugh since. And, Krul seems to be avoiding you. Just what the hell happened on Christ-mass?"

"Christmas."

"Whatever." She waved him off. "Don't change the subject. I hate it when you do that."

He stopped himself from saying something to upset her and motioned her to sit in front of him. He waited for her to take the seat before he closed his omni-tool. "So what is this really about?"

"What kind of relationship do you have with Legacy?" She asked, leaning back against the couch.

"We're friends—at least, I think we are. Look, it's complicated. But not complicated in the way you think. We knew each other before I came to Omega, we had—have—mutual friends." He had been trying to figure out who gave Legacy Indra's schematics. The most likely would have been Liara, but when he tried her extranet address he got no reply. Again.

"Are you sleeping with her?"

He stared hard at her. "Is that even possible?"

"Why? Do you _want_ it to be possible? Sidonis' little porn subscription giving you ideas?"

"You're making this very difficult, Melanis." He paused and sighed. "What is it that you really want to say?"

"Fine." She bit out. "I like you, boss. In that way. And I just want to know that I have a shot and you're not into—aliens."

"Oh, okay that's—what?" His hand left his new sniper rifle as if it scalded through his gloves. "Wait, where did all of this come from? You never—there wasn't any—"

"So, are you into aliens, boss?"

He tried replaying all their past encounters. Turians usually gave specific cues when they were interested, it's not like beating around the bush helped anyone. Sometimes, aggression turned into lust (that was another story, a very nice story about reach and flexibility) but still it was fairly obvious. As far as he knew, Melanis hadn't done or said the usual things males of his kind would see as an invitation to be intimate. No excessive hip movement, no purring in her sub-vocals when they spoke, no outward aggression due to hormones.

Nothing. Nothing he noticed, anyway. But he remembered Christmas and the way the rest of the team stood to one side. Spirits, they all probably knew.

Melanis would be what his kind would consider pretty and she had the strong attitude that would appeal to most. Supportive waist, well-groomed. She was also very young for a turian outside of the homeworld, just 28 as she told him when they were talking once and most turian women were still doing their service at this time. She could probably get anyone who was willing to look past the lack of colony markings. Garrus just didn't think she had him in mind.

"Melanis," He started softly. "Archangel, this team and this job—it doesn't have room for this kind of—relationship. And to answer your questions, no I'm not into aliens. And no, Legacy and I aren't together. But—that doesn't mean I want a relationship at all. Not at this time."

"Boss," Her voice wavered but she nodded strongly. "I understand. I'm—sorry I pried about Legacy. It's just that—you don't even let any of us close but when it comes to her, how easily she wormed her way into your heart—I'm sorry for the human expression. You obviously haven't read the book Krul gave you." She laughed at his confused look but she looked away. Her fingers were twitching and her sharp talons tapping against her lap. "You'd probably do anything she asked you to."

"Not true. This team is more important to me than Legacy." Commander Alenko came to mind, a solid reminder of why he was in Omega. "My purpose here and my only purpose now is to liberate Omega. Melanis, I doubt I could give this life up for much."

"You gave me a purpose here too, boss. My family, the orphanage here in Omega, all of them were killed during a gang skirmish." She closed her eyes, an obvious sound of pain in her subharmonics. "But you're my new family now, boss. I don't know if I can give you up to some other girl, and watch you run off with her."

He sighed. "I'm sorry for this, Melanis."

"It's all right." She stood. "Glad I told you. Now Sensat can stop giving me that knowing look."

"You told Sensat?"

"No, she found out. As always."

"Ah, I keep forgetting how scary she is. Asari and their mind reading."

Melanis' tone was a light one. "No. Sensat is just that kind of special."

"Uh, while we're on the topic," He scratched his chin. "About you and Sidonis—"

"I'd kill the fucker but he's your friend. So unless you gave me the signal, I won't hurt him. Much." Her eyes narrowed, she looked even more predatory than he'd ever realized she could. Even more so than the night they met. "Boss, contrary to the way I refer to them as aliens, I think humans are a great species, you know? They took care of me. Most of the kids in the orphanage were human too. I—obviously couldn't get my colony markings because I don't know who my real parents are. But the humans who took care of me didn't judge me for my face or what wasn't on it."

"Should I tell Sidonis to lay off then?"

"No, it gives me a reason to insult him. He's not as quick on the barbs as you, boss."

"He does lack that flair for words."

"Slow, boss. He's just plain slow."

She made her way out the dorm with a small nod and a weak smile, but not without a touch on his shoulder that lingered a few seconds too long. Garrus let out a breath when she was finally out the door. Leaning back against the couch, his muscles uncoiled with the released tension. His hand reached for the Indra again and he thought he had probably dodged the biggest ass bullet he'd encountered yet.

When his omni-tool blipped at the sound of a message, he opened it, expecting an admonition from Tali for typing too slowly when instead it was a message from someone he least expected.

Aria wanted him at Afterlife. _Now._

"I realize that you and Legacy are close—she does you all these little favors and that's cute. I gave her a few weeks to calm down but this has become a nuisance. Tell her to answer her omni-tool or there will be consequences."

Aria looked even angrier than Garrus had ever known her to be. He would have been affected otherwise but instead he looked at her and gave her the most bored face he could muster. "I haven't spoken to her since Christmas and that was a week ago. Why don't you try sending her two hookers?"

She stood from her seat and that was intimidating. Garrus still didn't move and didn't flinch. "Archangel, let me be clear. As long as that girl is standing on Omega, she's mine. And whatever part of her she shares with you, will only be a speck in comparison to all the times she's shared with me."

"Why does everyone think we're—Look, you're worried. I understand. But, Aria, I really haven't seen her for that long. And if she isn't talking to you then—"

"She blew up her apartment. I gave her that one too."

He stepped back. "What?"

"This isn't the first time I've pissed the girl off, Archangel. We've done some mean things to each other. Nasty things. I've enjoyed them all, immensely, which is why she's still alive. But we still manage to keep in contact. But she has a history that would make me cautious and if she's somewhere, bleeding or suffering, then Omega will strike. But now I can't even get to her omni-tool and enough is enough.

"Do you know where she is?"

"No," His eyes narrowed. "But I want to help you find out."

Edited 5.20.2014


	14. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mad love for all of you. 140+ readers (adding AO3 and ff together), I know you're out there. Drop a word in. Especially because this chapter and the next are very closely linked. That's right, I split one hell of a long chapter into two parts. This one has some (little, very little) action but the next one has the answer to a lot of unresolved things. (i.e. What is the Dominion, precisely? Who is Lor?) Want the chapter early?
> 
> Let me know. Hope this chapter finds you well.
> 
> Also, references to the Omega DLC and Mass Effect: Retribution (a novel, I haven't read it either-- but the reference here is more subtle). Nonetheless, if you know about neither you may look them up.

**Chapter 12**

The drop into the tunnels was a dark and long one, only the awareness of Legacy's limbs, the reflex of the body to relax, allowed her to land on her feet, pulling away from the grip of three digits—talons, Legacy noted, turian—friend or foe? A foe would have killed her, but a friend usually didn't pull other friends into dark tunnels—unless they knew how good you were at fighting in them.

Practiced fingers reached for the Carnifex at her side and aimed—

Up, at Zadkiel as he fell in after them. He managed to predict that Legacy would be ready for him and he twisted in mid-air, the bullet barely grazing his shield. Once he landed on the ground, he drew his own gun and aimed it at her. Habit had her reaching for her omni-tool to activate a Cryo Blast but she cursed as the tech sputtered in retaliation and she dodge rolled a rain of bullets and into the cover of shadows; not knowing where to aim, he shot blindly, unable to see her low crouch and the speed of her feet as she moved away from the general direction of his bullets.

He realized she was moving away and motioned to pursue, squinting against the darkness, his run was broken by a biotic barrier that appeared in front of him. He cussed, a dual voice—not human then, Legacy noted, but drell; but what was a drell doing in the new Dominion? — activating his own biotics, he used a Pull at the other figure that had dragged Legacy into the tunnels. The turian growled, resisting with dark energy, in the process illuminating a familiar face that Legacy had known in her youth. The turian broke free and used that chance to Pull to return the cover of the tunnels above them, the light dimmed to nearly nothing save the glow of blues and purples of their biotics.

Legacy resisted the elation, the laughter as she came out from her cover, cloaked by the darkness, this time with her sword drawn and burning in one hand and the side arm in the other as she dwindled his powerful barrier with two shots aimed at the back of his head. The bullets brought it down quickly and the drell turned back to her with his hands glowing with dark energy—

Only to have his space invaded by Legacy herself, her gun against his gut as she fired twice and he slumped against her, bleeding and dead and she laid him on the floor just as swiftly before shooting his omni-tool, killing whatever signal it might give off to the new Dominion. She aimed her sword at the turian biotic in front of her, burning between them as Legacy studied her face in its light.

"Just like old times, Kandros?"

Legacy remembered the silver landscape of Palaven, the reflected light from Menae and Nanus that glinted against the sharp end of her blade. She was Commander Shepard then with the seven men who stood behind her, ready to draw their own weapons at her signal. Standing before them was another group, steel sharp like her blade's edge—blue biotics flickering and dancing around them. The Cabal, a more known reputation than the Dominion and a group larger only by half but just as deadly and just as quiet—they didn't like each other at first but duties from the respective governments told them to put all the history and distrust aside for the cause. After all, the Normandy had been in the works despite the First Contact War. What Shepard found, however, was that the Dominion had more in common with the Cabal than they did with their own race— but now, wasn't the time for fond memories.

The emergence of the names of old friends with completely new faces was worrying. There was something off about the new Dominion. As much as Shepard, as Legacy was able to work well with aliens, the Alliance would never employ a drell to do its dirty work, least of all give him a name and the title of operative. Her own Zadkiel had been a recon scout with the quickest feet she'd ever trained and was nowhere near a biotic and all of the Dominion, her Dominion, had been human.

But that was then, and this was now. Kandros—old and dear, ally and friend, chuckled with her arms crossed and carried herself with ease despite the sword burning between them. "You didn't struggle. How did you know it was me?"

"Please. Not a lot of people can sneak up behind me and carry me in here. Aria's tunnels? Only a handful of people know how to navigate through them. Myself included. You're the only other one I know besides the brat and Aria herself." Rachel sighed at the dignified figure of the female turian before her, the red colony markings—though barely visible in the dark— would have given her away. "I'm glad you didn't leave Omega like you threatened to, Nyreen. I've been looking for you. Besides, Aria needs a few pains in the ass."

"I was really just on my way to see you after tearing down Omega for your apartment. Timing." Nyreen Kandros chuckled again. "And I hear you've been doing a fair job of pissing Aria off, Lorraine. Is it still Lorraine? Alice?"

"Legacy. Now that I'm working for our favorite asari." She snapped her sword back in its sheath at Kandros' hand signal to move out.

"Legacy? You're Legacy? Aria and her kinks." She shook her head. The pair walked deeper inside the tunnels, a labyrinth that would lead them straight under Afterlife if they kept walking westward. "You didn't seem like the type to just bend over backwards for her."

"You didn't look it either but you still did it." She paused. "Tell me, did you decide not to leave because of Aria or because of princess Liselle?"

If turians could blush, Nyreen probably would have. Instead, she cleared her throat noisily. "Liselle isn't at Omega at the moment and she doesn't know I'm around." She cleared her throat again, obviously she didn't want to talk about this and Legacy smirked. "Just tell me. I know you weren't exactly a paragon of goodness but you had your own creed. You worked for no one, even when you were part of the Dominion. Alliance colors be damned."

"Yeah. Remember all the times you were being a sanctimonious compromiser?"

"Yeah, I also remember some hardass bitch who killed everything and didn't listen to good sense." Legacy didn't see it but she knew Kandros had just rolled her eyes. "What's really going on?"

"Fine. I'm trying to be good and thinking about the galaxy for once."

"I said tell me the truth, not tell me the impossible."

Rachel huffed. "Fine. I'm repaying a debt, a damn heavy one. He's been out of commission, this friend, so until he comes back I have to pick up the slack."

"What? So, you're—how do you humans put it? Making deals with devils to repay someone?"

"Got it in one, Nyreen. You were always the smart one."

She chuckled, her talons scraping the tunnels' inner walls. Rachel could tell she'd been here a long time, her skin and plates seemed too pale under the light minutes before, and her eyes were closed, relying on just her memory and her hearing to get them through. "Must be one heavy debt."

Legacy nodded, even if Nyreen probably didn't see it. The turian probably already knew that she had agreed though, they knew each other too well and they let the silence accompany them through the tunnels. Studying the vague outline of the turian in front of her, she remembered all the missions they went through together when it was Shepard taking point and Nyreen questioning her morals.

When Nyreen was part of the Cabal, she was nothing more than a lieutenant despite years of loyal service, a real waste for talent like hers. Shepard had often talked to her instead of their own commanding officer to share Intel and discuss tactics—the rest of the Cabal felt the same about Nyreen. Of course, their own commander hadn't liked this special treatment and threatened to charge Nyreen with insubordination and even treason. And although she knew Kandros' disapproved of the way Shepard had dealt with the problem (cloaks did what cloaks did) and the fact that she dealt with it—no one complained when Kandros had taken her rightful place.

Roughly afterwards, Nyreen went rogue around the same time the Dominion disbanded. Being reunited at Omega about a year after, pitted against each other as enemies by Aria—that was just a few years ago. Legacy, Lorraine at that time, had made herself the thorn (or rifle, Lorraine was a real menace) on Aria's side. Then again, even that rivalry didn't last long the moment Lorraine discovered it was Nyreen and the princess brat chasing her around. And the fact that Aria turned out to be a pretty fun bitch past the violence and the attitude and the "Don't fuck with Aria." speech she gave all the newcomers.

Lorraine had walked all over that rule, even after they had become friends. Good times.

A little more than a year later, however, Kandros and Aria had a falling out and they went their separate ways. At that time, her name had been changed to Alice (the name of her childhood) and had moved on to Illium, working with an old drell friend, Amos. Aria didn't seem fazed when she had relayed the news but Rachel had regretted not being able to contact Nyreen again.

Nyreen cleared her throat. "That doesn't sound like the best idea. They might rather shoot you than the enemy."

"Have a little faith, Cabal. I'm more likely to shoot them before they could."

"There is that, Dominion." Her subharmonics were laced with amusement. "You should go to Palaven. I know the brass there owes the Shepard a few favors. And I know you were on speaking terms with Councilor Sparatus and the Lentinus family, to name a few."

"I've been rogue for years. I don't think they'd even hear what I have to say." She sighed. "And if I contact them and they contact the Alliance—I'd hate to have my house littered with mines again."

"It could be worse. They could be chasing you in dark tunnels."

"Nyreen, I hate your jokes." Legacy replied but laughed anyway. "But, that's the reason why I was looking for you. Think you can get in contact with the Cabal for me?"

"The Cabal? Did you forget I went rogue too?"

"Yeah, but you were the Commander at one point. Your men still respect you. Turian loyalty and all."

"Still. I all but deserted them it could get—ugly." Nyreen mandibles clicked together. "Legacy, I don't know what kind of favor you owe someone but this would be huge for me. You'd have to buy me drinks for the rest of my life."

"Doable."

"Spirits, of course you're swimming in credits. Freelance shadow or vigilante or whatever you called it, still a criminal—have I mentioned that we should talk about your career options?" She heard the clicking of Kandros' mandibles again. "What do you want me to tell them?"

"I'll send you the info as soon as I replace my omni-tool. But in a nutshell: I need an indirect route to get the Hierarchy to listen to the claims about the Reapers—"

"They're real?"

"As real as you and me, Kandros. And a threat to everyone. The Hierarchy more than anyone may have a good chance at holding the line. If the Cabal can stumble into some sensitive information—"

"And they tell the Hierarchy, they could get to preparing for war and they don't even need to know you were involved. Hah, I like it even if we would be lying."

"Not lying, the threat really exists." Rachel replied sternly. "But maybe manipulating the location of evidence wouldn't appeal to your better nature, Kandros, yes."

"So, not so good after all, Legacy?"

"Never good at all, Nyreen." Rachel chuckled. "But that's for later."

"Right," Kandros sighed, talons tapping against the walls of the tunnels. "This new Dominion is a little slow. I suppose they've given up with figuring out this labyrinth."

"Likely just waiting around?"

"Lazy. Obviously, but the drell was something. The way you took him out so fast though—remind me not to piss you off."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"Lies."

"Fine. I could have, but maybe just a few seconds slower." Rachel smiled then sobered. "The whole new Dominion is probably in Omega. If we break surface, I'm almost sure there's going to be at least one operative at entry points to Afterlife—they probably figured out my connection to Aria if they managed to find the apartment."

"We could stick to the tunnel openings and wait for them to notice it's off. Lure them in and jump them when they get close enough. You always liked guerilla warfare tactics."

"That would take centuries we both don't have—they don't seem very bright. Who waits by the fire exits without a fail safe? Besides, you can't break the surface for me." Rachel spun her around to face her. Dark green eyes met lighter ones. "I know you don't want Aria to know you're still here, do you? You were probably skulking around trying to figure out a way to see me without being noticed."

That didn't even make Nyreen pause. "There's no way I'd abandon a friend just because me and an asari aren't on speaking terms."

"I know she isn't just any asari to you, Kandros." Rachel sighed. "Listen, I need you here as well. Track my path. They may seem dumb but one of them might decide to drop in from where we entered. Get rid of them for me and smash their omni-tools. There are sure to be tracking devices there. Dispose of the lieutenant's body too while you're at it."

"And what? I'll leave you to fend for yourself?"

"There are going to be at least a handful of them." She paused, contemplating it. "There are about three entry points to Afterlife and since they're a predictable mess there'll be at least an operative on every one. The moment I alert one way, I'm sure the others will leave their posts to pursue like a bunch of pyjaks."

Nyreen nodded. "They do seem strangely eager."

"This new Dominion is off. I haven't heard from my contacts in the Alliance about them which means they're probably borrowing the name or they're not telling my contacts anything about it—highly improbable. They're likely to be working for one of the heads that want mine and deviated to gain a name."

"Hired thugs." Nyreen muttered. She motioned Rachel to press forward and they both began walking again, they turned a few corners and ducked under a hidden passage, crouching as they crossed to the other side. They were approaching light which meant they were close to a tunnel opening. "This will lead you to an entry point, I'm sure you remember."

"Right. Be careful down here, Nyreen. Try not to blow them up: quick and quiet, understand?"

"Don't worry. They're completely artless, as you used to say." Nyreen reached forward, holding her inner arm near the elbow. Right when Rachel was about to pull away the female turian pulled her closer and they crashed into a hug. It only took a few seconds to register that Kandros was a friend, who would not hurt her, even if her fingers twitched to push her away. "It was good to see you, my friend. Even if it was because a bunch of bastards are trying to kill you."

"It was nice to finally see you after so long, Nyreen." The turian smelled like iron from the rusty pipes, and Rachel was sure she didn't exactly smell like roses either but this sudden closeness made her feel nervous and giddy all at once so she laughed to disperse it. "What did they use to say in the Cabal before a mission?"

Nyreen eased away, a predatory grin with a lot of teeth on her face. "Happy hunting."

Omega had been home for a year, some time ago when she left the Alliance. She'd met good people and killed bad ones. All this proved was that she knew Omega almost as well as Aria did. Her short few months here just reacquainted her with the places she already knew. Omega was unchanging, persisting, and dark like its queen.

Omega wouldn't bend to just any outsider, Rachel knew. So even without her tactical cloak it was easy to slip into the hiding places of the predictable and artless new Dominion. The two of them were kneeling and waiting behind a dumpster in an alleyway; a human and a batarian, both female. They were both watching the same direction, but one was ahead of the other. A tactical oversight, even if batarians had four eyes, one Rachel was thankful for when she slid her blade through the first girl's throat: quick and quiet. And she twisted the neck of the batarian until it snapped. Grabbing their omni-tools, she destroyed one and then activated a distress signal with the other one for a short while, just enough so the rest of the new Dominion would know what was up before she destroyed that one too.

What had Lor said about unorganized units and superior numbers? She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, closing her eyes and taking in as much of the sounds as she possibly could. From where she stood, she was close enough to feel the bass of Afterlife, close as she was to the heart of Omega, which meant the new Dominion would be there soon. The alley reeked with the smell coming from the dumpster and the blood from the drell and the human on her armor and the floor.

"Sit and wait. They're coming for you." Lor smiled. "And just the best way they possibly can, as humans like to say: like moths to a flame."

She drew her blade, activating its new tech mod through the handle so that it extended into a longer sword: just one of the many surprise features other than the fire. She whispered her mantra, her one prayer, before the first of the Dominion arrived.

* * *

Garrus couldn't drag in the whole of Archangel to the special operation but he did take all the ones who had thought of Rachel with something close to warmth. Obviously, Erash and Sensat were on board. Weaver, who volunteered when he heard of the meeting and Butler who said Nalah would kill him if he didn't help out. Krul nodded, probably guilty over what happened during Christmas and that this was a good way to apologize to both of them at once.

He stationed them, save Erash who stayed by his computers and kept the comm channels online, near entry points to Afterlife as surveillance. If he were Rachel, he would head to the place where he could get the most help (and actually be heard) and for her that would be either the doctor or Aria. Solus was the least likely since there were too many injured people in the vicinity who would slow Legacy down (Garrus himself would avoid it because of the civilians and the likelihood of casualties), so Garrus put all his money down on Aria. True enough, as he was making the asari's floor his temporary base of operations, Aria received an anonymous tip less than an hour ago that Legacy was about to break open from the tunnels and that there were enemies stationed at the entry points to Afterlife.

"Should we believe it?"

Aria looked at the message. Garrus was sure the air around them had dropped several degrees over the few seconds she was thinking about it. "Yes. I think I know exactly who sent this information."

"And you trust it?"

"No, but I'm not sending my men. I'm sending you. Try not to disappoint me, Archangel." She glared at him and he took that as a cue to exit.

Sure enough, each of his team members had encountered operatives, a grand total of five by adding all three points, two of which came with a pair and one was solo.

"Should we strike?" Weaver's whisper came through the comm. Out of his whole team, Weaver was the one whose skillset came close to Legacy's. He understood more than anybody the sort of numbers she'd have to deal with if they left these guys alive.

"We don't know what Legacy wants to do with them. Let's wait." Garrus cocked his Mantis. He'd taken the higher ground, stationed near the entry point he felt would give Legacy the best advantage and in turn make it the path she would most likely take if she were on her way to Afterlife. It was a narrow alleyway with two operatives waiting where it was closest to Afterlife. What made it attractive, however, was that it was also connected to an abandoned building with a courtyard. Garrus had situated himself on the fourth floor, overlooking the alleyway and the courtyard, waiting.

When he saw a shadow flicker, he thought it was just his imagination, but then the two operatives went down, one choking on her blood and the other instantly dead with her head twisted in an abnormal angle. The new figure standing in the alley now, toying with one of their omni-tools before triggering it to self-destruct, was Legacy. Her mask was up as well and her eyes, when he looked into his scope, were a dark green. Through his visor, he noted she was uninjured and her heart beat was normal. Despite the situation, he had to look away and sigh in relief at the sight of her, in perfect health and waiting for her enemies, their enemies.

It was unlikely that she didn't know he was there, and just as he stared at her through his scope she stared back, mask in place. He felt his own pulse, heard it through his ears as the adrenaline pumped through him.

"Legacy sighted, team." His voice cracked through the comm.

"They've begun to move, boss." Sensat whispered through her comm. He can imagine her biotics flared just then. "Likely heading to your location."

"Amateurs. They're running to the slaughter. Head to your second positions. Tell me if anything new comes up." Garrus heard the round of "ayes" and looked through his scope and into an all kill zone.

Legacy had run so that they ended up in the courtyard. First, she took one down with her sword, slashing through the shield and tearing flesh. The weapon glowed with new tech and Garrus noticed it was longer and deadlier than ever before. The other pursuer who finally decided to pull out his gun got beat to it when she pulled out her sidearm and the enemy took one bullet to the head at near-point blank range. Quickly, she fired bullets at their omni-tools and they fizzled and died.

It would be a while before his team would arrive and he chuckled that they might miss all the action. As per her reputation, Legacy worked fast and efficiently alone.

When the last three operatives arrived they didn't charge at her right away, instead one stood back while two others stood in front of him. The two were armed, submachine guns drawn and they'd probably shoot before Legacy could move fast enough. But she didn't seem at all fazed, standing there with a sword in her hand. From where he was, he could only see the back of her head.

"Is this all you add up to?" Her voice echoed through the courtyard. "Did the Alliance really send you or just one man? I'll take you in alive, Hashmal. Because torturing you will be the best part of my week."

When one of the two in front fired with the provocation, Legacy flipped beautifully away, bullets barely grazing her shield. No wonder she wasn't worried, Garrus thought, the woman could dodge bullets.

Still in a crouch her finger pulled the trigger of her pistol and fired at the neck and head of one of her enemies. As he was going down, her arm moved to aim at the next man but she got her gun knocked out of her hand. He had been a better fighter than the last, engaging her in a flurry of movement and bullets—they danced around each other like Garrus had never seen the likes of, before Legacy got him, a blade through his throat, spraying blood on her armor and face as he fell too.

She wasn't immortal though, the last man, Hashmal, still stood there and he was ready for the other man to fall. His shotgun would take her down easily with her shields low and he yelled, "Die, Shepard!"

Garrus didn't have time to be surprised by the name. He fired a concussive round that hit him between the neck and the shoulder and he crumpled down to the ground, on his knees, before Legacy—Shepard? Alliance Shepard? Alenko's Shepard? Was that possible?—knocked him out with a punch to the face.

Garrus stood from his position and Legacy turned back and to stare at him. Sensat's voice through the comm announced that they had just arrived and Weaver sighed because they had missed everything.

Instead of responding, Garrus looked down at the rifle still in hand. Rach—Legacy— Shepard gave him a little wave, relieved and confused, Garrus could only wave back.

Edited 05.20.2014


	15. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boom. The review/comment count I was waiting for was reached. Reviewers/comments, more power to you!
> 
> See you next update.

**Chapter 13**

They were in a warehouse in the Kima District, one of many rusty looking storage units that no one passed. As far as Sidonis' Intel was concerned, there were usually dealings of red sand made in the area. Garrus couldn't believe he had condoned to this when the past two days had been so long.

The place was loaned to them by Aria who was unusually giving when Legacy was found. In fact, she looked almost teary eyed when Rachel entered her floor of Afterlife (but then, Garrus could have just imagined that).

Instead of a warm greeting though, she gave Rachel a curt, impersonal nod and welcomed her back. Legacy, covered in the blood of her enemies and hair windblown by all the flipping and running, nodded back, saying: "Do you have a place where it would be difficult to hear screaming?"

Aria laughed—a wide mouthed, head thrown back sort of laugh. Garrus told himself that it wasn't scary and that he wasn't scared. "I'll ping Archangel the coordinates. Have fun. I'll clean up the mess you did. Not as bad as the things you used to do."

"Definitely. But not better," Rachel turned back to Garrus sharply, a blank look on her face. "You're driving, Vakarian."

A demand, an order—one she had no right to give but Rachel never cared about rights. He had a barb ready for her tone but there were things he wanted to know—this was a sign that she might answer his questions. In the old days, his investigator days, he would have leapt at the chance to find out. Now, he knew better. Someone would have to pay the price for all the secrets she might reveal to him—it would be either him or her and Legacy had no qualms with it being him, if he so desired to tell them to anyone, even by accident.

She would kill him. He wouldn't make it easy but she would do it.

"Boss?" Krul's head was tilted to the side. Legacy had passed his team and was leaning against the side of a sky car another turian had drove up front. There were a lot of people, the queue to Afterlife's second floor never seemed to shrink but it seemed like all the bouncers around Legacy had teamed up to create a barrier and give out a general message that screamed: "Nothing to see here!"

"Go ahead, Krul. There are—things I have to confirm."

Krul nodded. "The difference between faith and reliance?"

"The very thin line." Garrus nodded back. "I'll meet the team at the base in a couple of hours. Tell Sidonis to get everyone together."

"Noted." Krul stole a glance at Rachel before he went to the rest of his team to relay to them the orders. It was important that Garrus showed he had forgiven Krul not only because he did but because the harmony within the team was important— plus, the stares Sensat and Erash had been giving the salarian were borderline dark.

He slid into the driver's seat with Legacy at his side and the assassin tied up and unconscious behind them; for good measure, they blindfolded the man and stuffed his ears so he couldn't see or hear where they were. Rachel also tore off his omnitool and fried the tracking chip with Garrus'.

"What the hell happened to yours?" He asked as he started the engines and the car lifted off the ground.

She shrugged. "Took a few mines. Nothing serious."

"Spirits, Rachel. If mines aren't serious, then what is?"

They drove in silence after that. But Garrus noted the light in her eyes even with her mask firmly in place. They could have almost pretended that they hadn't spent a whole week without talking or seeing each other. Almost.

Now, however, they were in the warehouse. They sat in front of each other, two chairs face-to-face. Garrus switched off his visor and put it aside. He also deactivated his own omni-tool. "There. No recording devices. I—look, I really didn't want to pry. Pasts should stay where they are."

"I know." Her hands clenched and unclenched. "I had wanted to talk to you about it, even to a small degree—but you know our luck."

"Yeah." He leaned forward. "I bet you don't see the reason why I should know, do you?"

"I do. I—we're working together. We should be able to trust each other." Her mask had been pulled down and she gave him a very tired smile. When was the last time she had a good night's sleep? "Faith and reliance, as Krul said. There is a fine line between them but we should be able to have both."

"Yeah." He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again to look at her. He had to face her directly without feeling sorry for how tired she looked, not that he didn't look like he came out of a klixen's rear end himself. "Anything you can tell me that won't send any of us into early graves."

Rachel sighed. "Impossible. But start with a question. And I'll tell you if I can answer it."

"All right. Just who the hell are you?"

She winced. "Some of that is classified information. You'll have to be more specific."

He motioned with his hands, tried to make them as slow and as un-predatory as possible. Inside, however, he felt distressed. "Trust me."

She winced again. Garrus wasn't sure what sort of wounds he was poking at, but they were festering well enough that they stung. Then she sighed, resigned, leaning forward on her elbows. "Vakarian, do you know the concept of a soul name?"

"A hanar's soul name?"

She nodded. "In the business of death, hanars usually only hire drell, however, I was made an exception because an assassin said I was the best at my job: infiltration, the art of subterfuge. This is when I first encountered a hanar's soul name. When we completed mission after mission together for him, the drell had told me that the hanar wished me to know his name." She crossed her legs, looking away for a long time but then she turned to him. Without her mask, he could see the half-smile. "But I have no soul name or face name. I had no name until Lor found me. So, Vakarian, you have to be more damned specific or else I can't answer."

He would have been impressed by her rhetoric if it wasn't so irritating at the same time. "Fine. Who is Shepard?"

"Shepard," She closed her eyes. "She—I—used that name when I worked for the Alliance."

He noted the way she talked about it in third person. "I heard from Alenko that Shepard retired after surviving Akuze. Wait—that means you killed the Thresher Maw, on foot, by yourself?"

She opened her eyes to stare at him. Maybe he should've hid his surprise better but how many people can claim they've killed Maws on foot by themselves? "He told you about that?"

"He said they still used your vids in N-school to teach greenhorn Special Ops how to do their job. He made me watch yours over and over again. Frankly, I probably would have anyway, what you did through most of that was… inspiring."

She smiled. "Hah. Prime example of a killing machine, am I?"

"A prime example of a soldier." Garrus corrected, stern but with some warmth in the sub-vocals he didn't really mean to express. "Alenko looked up to Shepard—you were his role model. Spirits, maybe even more than Anderson and he was one of the first of the N7. But, you're saying you were still part of the Alliance marines?"

"Shepard wasn't just any marine, Vakarian. Shepard wasn't just Special Ops. Even when she—I was recruited it was due to—very special conditions. But in return, the Alliance knew they had a special arm." She sighed. "Vakarian, not a lot of people know about this. And there are a fair number of them I've had to either kill or were killed by someone else."

"I can handle myself, Rachel."

She smiled, but her eyes remained bright and intense. "I know. But I don't want to put you in any needless danger." She looked down at her gloved hands. "Or, think about what it might mean if I became the source of that danger."

"Danger suits me. Helps me sleep at night." When he heard her chuckle he nodded for her to continue.

She sighed. "Let me start from the beginning then. Lor—he was my mentor, my father—a salarian. If Krul hadn't told you already. He raised me back on earth in a place they called the Tenth Street in New York."

"A salarian? What was he doing on earth?"

"I don't know. I could only make a guess but I never really knew why he chose earth." She smiled sadly at him but he nodded for her to continue. "It was a depressed area with nothing but debris and crime. Full of criminals who got younger and younger every year. Didn't make much sense, that place. The government had just stopped caring when there was a whole galaxy to take care of.

"I can't tell you, exactly, why I was there and how I was born. Only that I existed—nameless, lawless. Before I got neck deep in a gang, Lor found me—or I found him, stumbled upon him when I was injured during a gang war. I was about eight years old."

He shook his head. Even the duct rats in the citadel didn't start a life of crime that young. She cleared her throat and continued.

"When I was eight he trained me in everything he knew. When I was 12, we started going to missions together. Assassination and long term infiltration, that kind of thing."

"Four years and you were already good enough to do—jobs?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I was a very good student. Lor told me, even if I were salarian, I would be considered prodigious. Fast and good with numbers, he said. Exaggerations, he liked to brag to himself that he was an excellent teacher and I was an even better student."

Garrus didn't think it was an exaggeration. Even turians went to military training by 15 and no younger, even then, that was still five years of prep before they were field tested. They had at least a full ten years before hitting a real skirmish and they had known their whole lives, from the moment they were born, that battle was a normal thing. He knew humans didn't have that kind of mindset or tradition, not generally, anyway. Not even a life in a gang could teach the subtleties Rachel demonstrated with such ease. Drell assassins started at six years old but their biology allowed them to move with more flexibility. Four years was a short amount of time to prepare for a career of killing and trickery.

"When I was 16 he left me to finish his own business." Garrus watched her hands go up to her arms, gripping them tightly. "He cut himself off from all the connections we made together. After that, I started taking missions on my own. I was looking for him but he made it pretty damn hard. He was getting pretty old for a salarian, if he doesn't die because of his duty it would be because of his age.

"When a difficult job came to my table, after two years of being solo, I almost didn't take it but then the boss that I had to assassinate was said to be connected to Lor. I was doing the job with two other people but one of them was undercover." She chuckled humorlessly. "We killed him easily but it turned out the whole job was a scam. It was important that my associate escaped, though. The reason—is classified. But if I wanted to make sure my associate didn't get thrown in jail then I had to put up a front. I stalled for time before I was finally captured and imprisoned. A few months later, Captain Hackett—when he was still a Captain, strode in and recruited me."

"Hackett? Admiral Hackett? The Hackett who sent Alenko in all those random missions every time we just so happened to be in a particular star system?" Garrus remembered how irritating that was to stop by a planet just to do some grunt work. Williams barely liked it either.

"Yes, the old busybody." Smiling, she managed a soft chuckle. "I was going to be put into the N7 program but Akuze happened and I was—distraught." She sighed. "But Hackett said I was still needed, the N7 program was a formality. They already knew what I can do, saw it in Akuze and all the other times I had to play soldier. Instead, they promoted me, used my fake name—the longest name I had—Shepard, as the codename for my new position."

"Before I went rogue I was Staff Commander Shepard of the Dominion—I headed a group of operatives who didn't exist. We answered to no one save ourselves. Each of my team took on a new name and identity. We did everything the Special Ops couldn't. You can imagine that if Spec Ops aren't up to a job, then who is?" She smiled, staring right at him. "My team took on the names of Archangels. And all of them answered to one Shepard."

"You were Black Ops?" That had Garrus nearly jumping out of his seat. Turians generally didn't like the idea of Black Operatives; huge battlefields, fierce and fair fights were one thing, but there were too many memories, bad memories of what assassins and spies did to organized units during the turian civil war. The Cabal units had to live with that stigma, and every turian without colony markings as well.

"I did tell you I've worked with turians. The Hierarchy may seem like a proper system but then you hear about someone's death caused by a long term illness. Or a turian going missing in space. Then, someone steps up to fill in the shoes left behind." Her eyes narrowed. "We were very good at our jobs, unfortunately. Didn't you ever wonder how Councilor Spartacus got to where he is now despite being a complete nuisance?"

"Spirits," He did stand this time and started pacing. "How far was Dominion's reach?"

"Let me put it this way—with the Dominion, certain aliens were indebted to humans in different ways. Especially the non-council aliens, who didn't have Spectres to aid them." She closed her eyes again. "But a few short years later, I shut the Dominion down. Alliance lost a lot of clout. They weren't happy about it."

"Why did you shut it down?"

"Classified."

"Okay," He stopped pacing, facing her. "So, why the vendetta against Cerberus? Was it because of Akuze?"

"Akuze, yes. They were responsible for the team that died there. They were also involved in my last mission as Dominion. Again, that's classified." She sighed.

"This is the last—I promise." He watched her carefully, the way her eyes shifted, the way the muscles of her back and shoulder tightened. He knew that if he looked through his visor her heart would be beating very fast even if her face was calm. "Who is Lor? He's a salarian, but—how did he know all the things he taught you? You hinted he wasn't STG, couldn't be—even they're too conventional. A Spectre?"

Her whole body stuttered. He would have retracted the question with the way her eyes sharpened. "You would definitely die if you revealed this to anyone, Vakarian."

"Would you kill me?"

"Yes."

"Then that wouldn't be so bad." He sat back down, grinning. He felt his heart pound and his eyes sharpen. "It could be our last date." Sighing when the tension didn't leave Rachel's shoulders, he shook his head. "I would never tell anyone you didn't want me to tell. No one. Trust me."

For a long while she just looked at him, studied him again the way she did in the clinic weeks ago. In return he didn't move, didn't flinch under her scrutiny and he hoped that when she sighed, he'd somehow managed to pass her test.

"The salarians don't speak of them anymore, barely many know they existed." She paused. "But with good reason, because they're not allowed to talk about them at all, loyalty to the dalatrass makes it impossible. But Lor had no allegiance save to one group, similar to the Dominion. It started over a thousand of years ago and was destroyed because their own Union tore them apart when the asari demanded full disclosure of their military. The Union left them to their enemies and then they were eradicated."

Garrus eyes widened. He remembered hearing a familiar story while traveling from planet to planet, restraining himself from taking the wheel of the Mako from Alenko because he was a horrible driver. He remembered the salarian fossils, the corpses, the medallions—dog tags of the fallen.

"The League of One, they missed one member and his grudge lasted for more than a thousand years."

"Spirits," He whispered to himself. The League of One, they were the very first—the epitome of Spectre and STG training. And they died out and took a lot of the secrets with them.

"He, the missing operative, and all those after him trained generation after generation of salarians—orphans, abandoned by their dalatrass— to exact their revenge on the bloodlines that were responsible for their downfall and still exist today. The details are fuzzy, even for me. But they lived in secret for so long until just in his generation, Lor's team had been hunted down by three Spectres, one of which was Saren. The faction was guilty of treason but the Council never realized it was the League of One that they destroyed again."

"Saren? Your—father was after Saren?"

"Yes, that's why it was important I repay Commander Alenko."

"To pay your debt."

"Right, a huge debt but that would be too simple. Lor was the sole survivor of the League, but he couldn't bear to live on the way he did—not when all he knew, _Abrue_ and _Abrul_ , Brothers and Fathers, he called them—needed to be avenged. He changed the name and started over. The Legion of One, he called himself—he called us.

"My debt to Alenko runs deep because my ties to my _Abrul_ run deep. I don't know whether he's dead or alive. I need to know what happened to him, why didn't he contact Alenko if he heard what happened with Saren? I—had hoped he would. Debts are important to salarians, they were important to Lor."

Garrus nodded. So, she did risk revealing herself in hopes of finding her mentor—more than revealing herself to her enemies— and told no one. This must have been the underlying reason for contacting the Commander, for helping him. He was some kind of indirect link to Lor, one she had to risk just because there was a possibility that he might come out of hiding and repay Alenko. "Does the Union know about Lor? About you?"

"No. Imagine what would happen if they did." Garrus felt a shiver travel through him at the thought. A human who knew all the salarian Union's secrets, inside and out, and one with not a sliver of loyalty towards their Dalatrass?

Humanity was new to the rest of the galaxy but that didn't apply to Rachel. A thousand years' worth of secrets was written down in her bones. Smart. Beyond talented. She possessed that natural charisma that had aliens and humans trailing after her for strength, that thing that Alenko was missing. If she really wanted to, she could pick apart the Union.

In other words, she'd be lucky to be dead if they knew about her. "Does the Alliance know?"

"They never confirmed their suspicions. And whatever they did manage to guess, Hackett threw them off with false information."

"I'm guessing Hackett is one of those friends that helped you stay alive."

"He—I owe him and his family a lot." She smiled, the way her eyes dimmed cued Garrus in that she was thinking about the past again. "But that's another story for another time."

"So, Vakarian, do you regret knowing? Imagine what would happen if they knew about me, and then they'd know about you."

"You'd kill me before they got to me."

"With deep regret. But I would. A few others too, but it's best you don't know who those are."

He felt his mandible twitching, his hands too. He was just full of restless energy. Wrex would have probably laughed at him and called him an ugly krogan. In truth, he hadn't felt as excited—was that the right word?—to be in her presence since their "date." There were a lot of holes, but those could be filled in time.

She had a reason for her secrets and she had a reason for her ruthlessness. Old warnings from his father (or the voice only Garrus could here) couldn't possibly take into consideration that someone like Rachel—Shepard—Legacy could exist. The investigator in him took this all in, added them all to his mental file of her and he felt ecstatic, elated.

He was in the presence of the best, the galactic's best and more elusive than the Spectres ever were. And with what he heard, she may have run into them in her work both on and off Alliance. Possibly killed one or two of them on her own—either because of a job or because of a wild chase in the middle of one. She was a member, a legacy of the League of One. Was he crazy to feel this way—this admiration, near reverent respect for a human—for anyone?

He was aware now that if she had taken their match seriously, he would probably be dead. But he still managed to surprise her, to exceed her expectations. He had her respect, and maybe even her trust and that felt damn well liberating. If he needed to test his mettle against hers—either for fun or if she seriously needed to take his life—he knew he would have to do his best or he would die.

Instead of saying all of that though he cleared his throat, sat back down and crossed his arms. "Just one thing—Shepard."

"You better not call me by that name in public."

"Of course. Just answer me."

"Fine. What is it?"

"I think I've earned the right to be called Garrus now."

She looked at him for a long time and then just laughed. Leaning back against her chair, her chin tilted up. "Fine. Garrus. I guess that's a good trade."

Edited 05.21.2014


	16. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very busy weekend. So, I'm posting this now. See you soon, I hope.

**Chapter 14**

They barely even had to torture the guy before he started singing like a canary. Frankly, Rachel was disappointed. She really wanted to draw everything out. She confessed this to Garrus who looked at her half amused and half frightened before he said, "What else are you going to confess to me? Your undying love?"

She thought she'd die laughing.

The assassin wasn't Alliance, but he did work for someone in the Alliance. It didn't even matter who it was, really, but she punched Hashmal and asked for his name anyway, just to watch the man cry. Apparently, it was a new Admiral by the name of Gregor Mason who wasn't even involved with the earlier Dominion faction but wanted that sort of backing. Rachel rolled her eyes at the mere thought of it.

"How did he know about the Dominion?"

"S-someone had sold the information to the Shadow Broker."

"Fucking Broker." She muttered, beside her Garrus chuckled. It seemed like someone new had to die again. She'd have to call Zachrael, he enjoyed getting rid of traitors even in the old days. Wait till he heard about this. "He should be silenced for good. Do you know who sold it?"

"No, I don't know anything!"

"Hm."

"Please, I don't know. What are you going to do to me? Please, please don't kill me."

"How did you find me?" Rachel asked. When he didn't answer right away she lifted her fist to break his nose in. She did it so swiftly that the grinding of bones at the impact of her punch was the only indication that she had hit him at all. Hashmal yelled and cried and blood poured down his nose and covered his mouth.

"Fuck, it was a coincidence! We were sent out to find the old Dominion. We have leads on all the First Seven except you. We just found out you were Shepard days ago! W-we thought we were going to find Azril but when you didn't match his ID or anyone's it was likely you were Shepard."

"Why is he looking for the Dominion?"

"He wants to start it up again. He's trying to get the old members, to teach us because he couldn't find Intel on Shepard. If he knew you were here—he wouldn't need the First Seven. But we thought we c-could prove ourselves by killing you."

"Hah, what? You think your team was the Second Seven?" She used the handle of her sword to tilt his head up. "You think you can hold a candle to the Dominion with the way your guys moved? All of you fell easily enough. You don't deserve their names."

"Shit, _shit_! Don't kill me, please!" He stamped his feet on the ground, wildly. He looked like he was about to start vomiting—like some kind of overgrown baby. These were the kinds of guys who blew up Aria's apartment, her apartment? Really? Now, she was just pissed off.

"Definitely not real Dominion," Rachel withdrew her sword. "We've been trained to withstand torture. Or at least, attempt to endure it to make it memorable."

Garrus's face plates twitched at that. "So, what's the verdict? This guy knows who you are and where to find you."

"We'll have him record his voice to send it to his employer, arrange a VI to give this admiral updates until an— old friend can pay him a visit. Until then, the VI can throw the admiral off my scent. This guy—we can leave to Aria. He did blow up her apartment." She smiled at the man tied to the chair who just started to cry. "You're going to wish you just died instead."

* * *

"Have fun, Legacy?"

Mask back on, she strode into Aria's floor of Afterlife and took her usual seat beside the asari. "Left the little shit to your men. Try to keep him alive long enough that he'll regret living."

"Oh. I intend to." She inclined her head at Garrus who stood at the bottom of her stairs. His face gave away nothing. "Still following you around?"

"He drove us here."

"And why did you come back?"

Legacy signaled for a drink. "I thought Aria knew everything that happened in Omega?

"Don't be cute. It pisses me off."

"Fine." Legacy put her hand out. "Keys to the new apartment, if you will."

"What apartment?"

"The one you'll give to me if you want me to keep working here."

Aria thought about it for a while, waiting for Legacy's glass of wine to come by before she said, "I had intended that you live with me."

Mid-gulp, Rachel nearly choked on her drink. "I'd rather sleep beside the Vorcha."

Aria rolled her eyes. "It's the safest place. With everything that's happened I would think you would want to be safe."

"I also don't want to be nagged. I get that enough via omni-tool. I don't need it every day and night."

"I've been told I was a good bed warmer."

"Oh? Is that why Kandros walked out?" The glass in Legacy's hands shattered, she took one amused glance at Aria, skin still emitting the blue of her biotics. "Struck a nerve?"

"No comment. And I'm not going allow you to wander my streets like a stray cat."

Just then Garrus cleared his throat, both women turned to look at him. "Maybe I can provide a better option?"

* * *

"I should have chosen the vorcha."

Legacy found herself following Va—Garrus to Archangel headquarters. She was also digging her heels every step of the way. On the other hand, he just laughed. "What? You want to stay in my apartment?"

"Don't be crass."

"See. This is a better option. You already know where it is and you're secretive enough. I doubt you'd compromise it."

"Did you forget what happened to my last place?"

"That wasn't your fault. That was Aria's. She's had you traipsing around for too long with a name attached. I know you'll be extra careful going in and out of here from now on." He motioned at the base that loomed like a dark cloud over her head.

"This isn't a good idea, Va—Garrus. What will your team think?"

He shook his head, an oddly human gesture. "They know you. You're not going to mess up our rhythm. We'll be barely operational for three weeks, at least." He paused. "And even if we were full time, it's not like you don't work for us anyway."

"Garrus, all I did was tell you a little bit of my past. Now, you're asking me to move in with you? Maybe we should slow this down."

He laughed when she crossed her arms. "What? You think we need a break?"

"Just know that it's you and not me."

"Shepard," The turian sounded like he was trying to curb his amusement. Obviously, it wasn't working. "Archangel isn't going to bite you. At least, not very hard." He put a hand on her shoulder that she had to resist shrugging off. "Besides, most of us don't live here. You can be our guard varren to earn your keep. Just until you get a new place."

"Sounds great."

"Isn't it?"

"I was being sarcastic."

"You sounded awfully sarcastic, but I don't care."

They traded jibes all the way up to the dorms, the team saw them enter but they just headed all the way upstairs. She did manage to see them gaping and shuffling up after them. She spotted Sensat immediately, too excited for words that it made Shepard a little bit afraid when she got close. The asari looked like she was resisting the urge to jump her.

"Are you staying over?" She asked with glowing, dark eyes.

"Sorry for the suddenness." Garrus shrugged, barely sorry. "Legacy will be staying in HQ indefinitely. She'll watch over the place when we're out doing our jobs. Try not to kill her. That goes for you too, Legacy." He gave her a narrow eyed look that had no malice behind it.

She shrugged. Might as well play along. "So long as I can claim self-defense, I will strike. Keep your team in line, Vakarian and we'll be fine." He looked close to correcting her for the name but the female turian—Melany? Melody?—stepped forward from the line of his team. Rachel knew something about reading turian expressions—though it took a copious amount of energy to do so— and she knew the other girl looked above and beyond pissed off with her teeth bared and her mandibles flared. It was just like it was a little more than half a year ago, and she was in the middle of Alenko and Williams's romance again.

Damn, she should have just stayed in Afterlife. That was the magical third option. Even if Grizz had hinted creepily that she had yet to pay him back on her promise, and had made a few unsubtle hints about when she used to dance at the poles (like she wanted to be reminded, the things you did to spy on your enemies).

There was no time for longer regrets though because Sensat pulled her by the hand and showed her a free bunk (right next to hers, wonderful!) and what drawers were free for her to put things in.

One of the human men sighed and said, "Asari move really fast, don't they?" The woman beside him just laughed. "We have no hope."

Sensat waved him off. "I have no interest in you like that, Legacy. Rest assured. I'm nothing like the barbaric men behind me who've used words like "damn fine" and "nice arse" to describe you."

Rachel stepped back. "Vakarian, maybe we should rethink this."

"Well, fuck, we've been ousted by Sensat. This betrayal runs deep, asari. You were supposed to be the nice one."

Sensat blinked but continued. "Ripper in particular went through many synonyms for—"

"I think I already know and I don't want to confirm it." Rachel put a hand over the asari's mouth. She gave a nod to Vakarian. "Maybe you can show me around the base instead, Sensat? I'd like to know the perimeter more. And with your boss' permission maybe set up more defenses?"

"Go ahead, Legacy. Sensat—try not to scare her off."

The asari all but screamed when she pulled Rachel out the door. Before they both got out of earshot, she distinctly heard one of the men—likely to be Ripper—asking Garrus if he could start staying in the dorm too.

His request was gruffly denied by Erash, through their comm system, before Garrus could even answer.

* * *

Garrus was making his way towards Shepard when she was finally alone, scanning one of the far corners of the first floor with her new and improved omni-tool (before they left Aria said it was to make up for the stripper, he thought she would just be frantic if she couldn't contact Legacy again).

Throughout the day he just watched her practically fly with Sensat from one end of the base to the other, listening to what Sensat told her—all the little stories about whatever they saw or touched. "How Butler broke the vase that was here when he tripped over his own feet." or "How the boss used the shelf for target practice and that's why it was set aside in a weird way." or "How Mierin had been trying to figure out how to use the grinder and that's why it was still broken because Erash refused to fix it for the nth time." Garrus never realized how long the asari could just go on, but Shepard was very patient and asked questions that made the asari smile.

When he was a few steps behind her, she spoke without turning. "The position of this place may not be conventionally sound, Garrus. But I'm a big fan of hiding in plain sight. Just wanted you to know what I thought, even if I knew exactly where it was for a while."

He stopped, leaning on one leg. Of course, he knew this was a great place. He picked it out himself and he was no slouch when it came to tactics. "And the defenses?"

"Sufficient but not great. Your hacker did well with the tech though so I don't think I can improve much there. I'm going to start setting up backup power routers and generators. Also, a few defense turrets downstairs. If anyone gets desperate, underground would be the perfect place to dig—there are a lot of interlocking tunnels down here in Omega." Her new omni-tool finished scanning the corner and she looked up at the results. "The building isn't displaying any signs of wear or rotting, despite it being fairly old. The fibers should be able to hold a few explosions."

Garrus's eyes widened. "You're not planning to set up mines, are you? Butler can get pretty—restless. I don't want him to step on them by accident. Nalah would cry."

"I'm just taking into consideration the possibility of explosives as a precaution. If by chance your enemies find your team here, there's going to be a line of defense you can activate instantly but they'll be deactivated until then. So, unless Butler decides to ram himself into the wall—then there's barely a possibility of anything blowing up.

"However, they won't be there if you don't want them to be." She smiled up at him. "I can set up laser-wire that Erash can switch on the moment he thinks things become dangerous. We should also set up extra surveillance at your choke points and hidden cameras in case they get blasted away."

He nodded. "I see you've thought this through."

"I'm surprised you didn't."

His left hand reached for his right shoulder. "There are funds to think about, you know? There's also transportation. That much tech in one shuttle is going to get mercs suspicious."

"We just have to split them up at different drop points and fetch them nonchalantly. Information Brokers always look for things that stand out, I assure you that I know when not to stand out." She moved back to assess the wall again. "As for funds, we can do it one step at a time. No need to rush. Prioritize surveillance and back-up generators since your group relies heavily on tech. The rest will follow."

He hummed, more pleased than he would care to admit. Krul had talked about these a things a few times with him but not as confidently."I've been thinking about emergency exits as well. Any ideas for those?"

"Ah, well. A weakness to the location, you're surrounded by wolves." She gave him a small smile. "I can show you a little bit of the tunnels—Aria would kill me but that would be the best part. As far as I can discern, you won't have to break any walls to get to a safe location too. You can teach it to your team on your own time."

He chuckled. "Aren't you handy?"

"More than just handy, Garrus." She nudged his shoulder with her elbow, barely a graze really. Smiling, she looked past his shoulder then looked up at his face. Then she began to whisper, her mouth barely moving as she did it. "I think your turian girlfriend wants to talk to you."

He didn't turn back right away. He tried to snuff out the nervous sound in his sub-harmonics but by the amused look on Shepard's face he wasn't successful. "Melanis and I aren't together, Sh—Legacy."

"Really? She's been giving me the stink eye since I got here." She whispered back, when she drew a half step closer he felt something shift quickly behind him. "See. She's got her talons dug right into your back."

Shepard herself didn't bother to move back when a growl came from Melanis' subharmonics. Then again, neither did he. "It's, uh, I know. She told me."

Shepard's eyes grew round and large at that. "And you _rejected_ her?"

"Um, yes."

"Woah, isn't she considered pretty by turian standards? What kind of snobby tastes do you have?" She put her hands up when he glared at her. "Tell me you let her down easy."

"Easy enough. But she— _expressed_ that she probably won't tolerate other girls if they come by."

"Well, you're in for a wild ride, Garrus." She winked at him and he glared. "Off you go. Please explain that though I do enjoy the company of turians in general, your face is no different from Grizz's to me."

"What? Grizz? The turian guard by the stairs in Afterlife?" When she nodded he growled playfully. "I saw Grizz and he's got nothing on this." When he motioned at all of him, she couldn't hold back the laughter. Melanis footsteps were audible and with angry purpose as she moved quickly towards them. Gone was the efficiency of an apex predator, just a woman who had clearly told him that he should be wary of her scorn.

"Oh shit, the ugly face of jealousy is worse on a turian." Now he had to hold his laughter when Shepard murmured. She took a small step back to let Melanis into their circle.

"Legacy," She greeted, coldly. "I see you've made yourself comfortable. Checking the base, adding things."

"Melanis, was it?" Her voice was smooth and low, her eyes flickered to him and she looked all the more amused. "Heard great things about you from Vakarian."

"Did you?" Garrus almost groaned in dismay at how hopeful she sounded. He would pay Shepard back for this.

Shepard nodded. "I'll leave you two alone now. Vakarian, you'll find me in the dorm in about an hour. Have to see if any of my things are salvageable." She nodded to both of them before heading for the exit, but not before she put a hand on his arm (near his elbow) and letting it linger before she left. Melanis' mandible clicked together audibly.

He could almost imagine Shepard's laughter when she was far enough. She would pay for this. She really would.

"You said you guys—" Melanis' eyes narrowed. "Either she was playing with me or you were lying."

When he got an idea, an idea so unlike him that he must have channeled the Spirit of—Rachel (whatever that meant, mischief or cunning) he put on his most convincing and serious face. "Actually, Melanis, the thing is…"

* * *

"I can't believe you did that, Vakarian."

"I know. Brilliant?"

"Stupid. So stupid and I hate you."

"That's not what I told Melanis."

She rolled her eyes as she unpacked her things. She hadn't gotten a replacement for most of her old weapons and the armor she used as Rachel yet (she had intended to destroy the latter, anyway). But her rifle had been salvaged and was under repair (Mordin was happy to take it and add some tweaks) and she still had her blade and sidearm and those were enough.

"You sent her to me and she was all righteous indignation and fury. And she keeps her talons long. Very, very long."

"She does, doesn't she? And I saw her kill a turian with those. Almost as fast as you. Give it a few more years."

Shepard glared at him. "I am not your fan girl, Va—Garrus. And I do not think "you are my one true turian love" as you claimed I said, verbatim."

"And who will she believe? Fanatic, crazy Legacy who works for evil asari or the leader of Archangel who comes with the complete package of handsome, skilled, and debonair?"

"The only fanatics you have work for you. And I do not work for you." She huffed. "You better be prepared, Garrus. I make a living settling grudges."

"Aren't you glad I convinced her to head on home and that you won't molest me?"

"And you better head to your own apartment because if you gave me an opening I will kill you in your sleep."

Laughing, Garrus stood up from his place on the couch and bid her goodnight and left the dorms.

When he was gone she muttered to herself. Now, she would try to think of something else lest Erash ask her what was wrong through the dorm comms.

Removing the folded handful of clothes from her pack to her bunk to be segregated into the drawers, she sighed and crossed her arms. Most of the clothes Aria had bought her in a hurry were what made up her wardrobe now. They were normal and decent, surprisingly—no thongs or embarrassing lacy things anywhere. Most were dark in color too but she did put a few white things in the mix.

Fucking, Vakarian- how dare he, she caught herself and shook her head.

She went back to assessing her clothes. What she did have that was a little risqué were the thigh high boots Grizz had given her as a belated Christmas gift (he knew her size, she didn't know whether to be amused or scared) that actually would do nicely in battle as he'd modded them (he really knew her well) with some tech to amplify her running speed and strength of her kicks. It also had decent shield generators which could be tweaked to be even better. When she had explored them, there was also some space enough to add another form of tech. They were partly bone weaved and yet they were light and leathery and black, laced in the sides in a way that made them stylish despite how long it would take her to put them on at all.

They would really show of her legs. Grizz obviously wanted her to wear them for him—even if it must have used up half a year's worth of salary to get them.

And she would because he was doing well to not let Aria know about her dealings with Patriarch. She'd have to find some armor to go with the boots (no way was she going around Omega without at least light armor).

But _really_ , because she couldn't get the fact that Vakarian claimed she was his fan girl out of her mind. How dare he claim such a thing.

The very thought that she would be anyone's fan girl was just stupid. She'd had her fair share of relationships—mostly short ones that meant nothing. She'd guess that she had already met the greatest love of her life which was the cloak. And maybe, she had met the second but that didn't work out in the end.

Garrus was so out of his league, she was going to slay him and his dead rotting body would be the stench of victory.

She caught herself then, this thought—this sense of camaraderie that she hadn't felt since her time in the Alliance. It was a dangerous feeling, a beautiful feeling. So she allowed herself to revel in it some more, breathed it in and out as she removed one article of clothing at a time and tucked them into drawers.

Removing her gloves, she eyed the scars on her hands and knew they would look as if they faded. She knew when she went to sleep that night that she wouldn't be able to remember her dreams the next day. The fact that a bunch of amateurs found her in Omega was bad enough. What if her enemies really tried to look for her again?

It was a sign: it was time to leave Omega.

But for now, just for now, she would stay.

Edited 05.20.2014


	17. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Interlude. I hope you enjoy this as much as I liked writing it. I predict about 2 or 3 more Interludes spread through out the story. I find the current POVs limited in understanding the characters. And it just isn't as fun without them.
> 
> Many thanks to Elantil, Primordial Soul, and GalaxyWanderer for reviewing all the time. And for all the readers too for sticking around.
> 
> I am also aware that in ME3 the N7 sniper rifle is called Valiant but for now, since it's Legacy's own and not Alliance owned schematics it's called Variant, yay puns.
> 
> Apologies in advance for typos. Gosh, wish I could catch them all but I've re-read this one too many times that I can no longer see them. As you know, I re-check old chapter but only after a couple of weeks have past. Maybe it's time to rethink not getting a beta.
> 
> See you next update.

**Interlude II: How Legacy was Archangel's Legacy and Thus: Ma'am and Not Really**

Erash knew that Legacy's presence in the base would change things.

Granted, he was just happy that she had spent a good amount of her days in his office, watching the surveillance cameras with him and maintaining the equipment that had been ruined because of the explosion. She had with her a very interesting sniper rifle that she had given him permission to poke around and find improvements she didn't know herself.

"You could have been an engineer, Legacy. You do good work." He muttered as he looked around the gun that went by the name "Variant." It looked like a weak gun but seemed to pack modded bullets and a lot of punch. The modifications that she had installed were already impressive, but Erash felt he could still reduce the reload time by more than eighty percent and add a few extra rounds before popping a new clip in.

"Hah, I'm no genius, Erash. Can't make my own stuff—most of what I learned was taught to me by a friend from the old days." She smiled as she assembled a mod for her scope. He watched her hands work, all four of his eyes gleaming. "Also, all my other talents may go to waste if I did."

"Still, could use another tech head." He sniffed. He wasn't trying to be discreet but he could have used the subtlety. He was never good at that but still it would have saved him the embarrassment of being figured out so easily.

She smiled at him. "I'd be honored, Erash. But you see here," She pointed at one of the screens where the boss was walking around. His stance was calm, but his eyes darted all over the place, looking for something. "I think you can handle yourself more than he can."

"Ah, the boss can get pretty lost." He nodded. If he had to lose Legacy to anyone then it would be to the boss. He had approved of Glarch—the name should be shot though. "I think you two look nice together."

She laughed. "That sounds like a whole lot of gossip, Erash. You should know better."

"Do you like the boss, Legacy?"

She paused in her work, eyeing the turian through the screen. Her smile grew wider. "He's tolerable."

"I'm thinking he likes you more than he knows himself." Erash sniffed again, watching the boss too. He was likely looking for Legacy and it was confirmed when he stopped to ask Ripper if he'd seen her. "More than you'd like to acknowledge too."

She gave nothing away, not even in the color of her skin as humans seemed to do. "Something you observed?"

"I have four eyes. I use them all."

"Hm. Well, unless you can find proof I will neither agree nor deny."

"Tss. Difficult human."

"Nosy batarian." She sang back before something clicked well into her scope and her smile turned furtive and small. Pleased.

Tapping her feet as she worked, she began to hum under her breath before she began to sing, but the words didn't come out in his translator. The language sounded round but weighty. It was impossible for most batarians to learn to speak a new language - accent and biology barely allowed it. At least, Erash himself had the capacity to read, he doubted the rest of his kind did or even wanted to. Perhaps, this was a contributor to the xenophobia that gripped them, other than mere foolishness. There was no getting around stupidity - he noted Butler as a prime example.

Erash closed his eyes at the sound of her voice, echoing softly around them in the small room. It reminded him of when he was about 11 years old— working in the fields, the sun beating down the back of his head as he bent down, touching the soil with his hands: dark, wet, lush. In her voice was the perfume that wafted towards him in the wind…

Khar'shan had been a beautiful place to live and though significant portions of its civilization lacked the technology of most cities, it had been full of life in its own way. He had loved the fields— a contrast to the cold tech under the ministrations of adept fingers, but still it was a warm reminder that not all the times of his younger days were about constant whippings, suffering, and toil.

Legacy's voice reminded him of the krepice skirts of the female slaves, billowing against the wind as they watched from underneath the shade as the men worked on the field. They carried with them fruits by the basket, grepin mostly from the harvest of vines to turn into beer variants that would be shipped off and exported. The women stood and they taught the children their language through their songs—their voices lifted by the winds and into the vast grepin fields.

When Legacy stopped singing, Erash, eyes still occupied by his work, asked: "What was that language?"

It took only a moment before she replied. "A very old one. I heard my father sing it all the time. It's a celebratory hymn."

"Do you know anything more somber?"

She laughed. "Somber, huh? A dirge? The old language had a lot of dirges."

"Sing it then."

She barely reacted to the pushiness of his tone. Most races did and scorned his race for it, even if it was something they couldn't help with due to the nature of their own culture and language—the violent tendencies of the former, most especially. That batarians were abrasive in most things was common knowledge but Erash remembered the fields and the wind and knew that wasn't all true.

When Legacy began her song, her voice translated beautifully into a somber tone. Erash remembered Khar'shan once more: his mother's face and the deep black emptiness of her eyes as she called him "Waerfan", his father's name, "My love." She held him by the hand as if all the time and suffering hadn't passed and he was still alive.

And Erash felt only disgust for the woman, his own mother, as she sobbed into the harsh material of the krepice and klete of her shirt, wept and wept, apologized for all the times she had called out a name that wasn't his but his father's.

Erash then had crept into his the covers of his cot, smelled the sweet scent of grepin in the winds of the fields, the soil beneath the palms of his hands, and the voices of the women. He reached out for the cold handle of his tools and searched for the glint of the machine he was trying to produce, working all night afterwards without rest until he had finished.

The boss probably didn't know that Legacy could sing.

Erash wasn't eager to inform him any time soon.

* * *

When she wasn't in Erash's office, she was in three other places: the storage below the ground floor where she meditated for half an hour every day and did some exercises for a whole hour afterwards, at the mess hall eating with Sensat or whoever was there at the time or in the dorms sleeping or changing (Erash always switched the cameras off then, he'd never watch. It was a breach of the trust Legacy seemed to place on him

Various members of Archangel were delighted to find her in the mess on most days. They engaged her in conversation, especially when Sensat was out (as she had this thing for trying to monopolize her, idiotic asari). As a week past, the human males (the single ones, as Butler was absent) of Archangel had made it their ritual to have lunch with Legacy. Erash would have joined them himself, but he barely left his office.

Legacy seemed to take the attention in stride. She didn't try to act demurely as Sensat sometimes did, or to act like one of them, as Mierin did (though, Mierin probably didn't mean to). And she wasn't disgusted at their antics, like Melanis was. In fact, although Erash had feared for Legacy at first, she had taken her place on the mess table sagely. Weaver had described her as "an older sister" with Ripper supplying a "an oasis in a desert."

"So, Vortash, how goes it with Mierin? Any progress?" She smiled after putting down her sandwich.

"She hates me, as usual." The man said with his mouth full and she rolled her eyes at him. "Nothin' I say is going to change that, ma'am."

"Well, maybe if you stopped pulling at the proverbial pigtails, she might actually look at you as more than a nuisance." She chuckled at his dismayed look. "Or maybe if you just told her?"

"She's right, Vor. Just tell her: 'Babycakes, your face. I like it.' And she'll be all over you." Ripper snickered. "Fuck it, Legacy. Vor doesn't have that— thing."

"Thing? You mean balls?"

"You hurt me, ma'am."

"Sorry, Vortash." She smiled sweetly but barely sorry. She turned back to Ripper. "What thing?"

"You know—that fucking thing? Don't glare at me like that, ma'am. Think, if she rejects him he'd be a mess. He wouldn't be able to sleep, eat, breathe—he'll be a fucking vegetable."

"Yeah, so you're saying Vortash doesn't have the balls?" She rolled her eyes at all their dismayed faces. "Oh come on, she's one girl. If she says no, you're just going to give up? Win her if you want her. And if that doesn't work still, learn to let go."

"You say that because you have the face and body of a goddess. That's verbatim from Sensat, by the way. Please, don't kill me." Weaver backed away from the table. "You could get any guy you wanted. Or asari, they seem to be crawling all over you, ma'am."

"Ma'am—why do you guys keep calling me ma'am?" Legacy's nose wrinkled in that strange human way, liked she had smelled something awful.

Monteague cleared his throat. "It's because you're Archangel's Legacy."

"I'm what?"

"The boss is the boss. And you're his, so ma'am." Even Erash didn't get the logic but then again, humans did think in weird and intricate ways that baffled him all the time. Again, he conjured Butler as the epitome of senseless.

"You know I don't work for your boss, right? I work with him. There's a clear difference."

"Another clear difference is that if we fucking touched you, he'd hang us upside down and saw off our dicks." Ripper muttered.

"What? You guys are delirious." Legacy pushed off the table and left her seat, bringing her empty plate to the washer under the sink. "You know whatever we say is just banter, right? We knew each other before we re-met in Omega, we have history—very platonic history."

Since her back was turned Legacy couldn't see the faces all the men shared at the table behind her back. Erash was sure he was going to hear about a dating betting pool from one of them soon. When she turned back to look at them, leaning against the counter, they had all managed to school their features. "You don't think we're going at it behind your backs, do you, Grundan?"

Legacy had taken a liking to the tall man and he in turn had been extremely nice to her. She had told him when they were alone that he reminded her of someone from her old team. Grundan had taken this knowledge with a gracious smile. Erash liked the man too, he was probably the most decent human man Erash had ever met. "The boss is rather protective of you, Legacy. He reminds us every other day not to overstep our bounds. Not to make too many dirty jokes. Not to cuss too much."

"I'm sure he just wants you all to be decent human beings."

"Or he just wants you all to himself—ow!" Legacy had punched Ripper upside the head. "Fuck, you hit harder than Mei."

"Good. Now, stop slacking off and go do what you guys normally do."

"Aye, ma'am." The table replied. She bristled before walking back up to the dorm.

* * *

"That is very interesting, Grundan."

The larger man nearly jumped out of his corner at the sound of Legacy's voice. Erash zoomed the camera in to get a closer look of Grundan's twitchy and wide-eyed expression. Still, his meaty hands clutched on to the two— as Erash recalled— knitting needles with some form of protectiveness. The long fabric that he had fashioned from the needles and a ball of yarn dangled limply off his arm. The "knitting" method escaped Erash, though he had remembered his mother making clothes for them to wear—involving only that one end be tied to a post as the slave weaved the rest by hand. The clothes had been made of the fibers of mostly krepice husks that made him itch in all the wrong places. Slaves couldn't wear anything else—but of course, Erash was no longer a slave.

It was late at night and everyone else had gone home or gone to bed in the dorms. Grundan had messaged Erash that he was coming over to finish his project. Legacy did have a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night cycle, she'd walk downstairs and get a glass of water and bring him some and chide him to go to bed too. Erash barely slept. He saw his mother's face enough awake. He didn't need her in dreams too.

Grundan sniffed, out of excuses to give. "You going to make fun of me like Ripper and Vor, ma'am?"

Legacy's eyes brightened in recognition and offered Grundan a smile. She brought up her bare hands and Grundan looked wide eyed at the large scars that marred them. "Is that why you squeezed yourself into this tiny, dark corner?"

"Ma'am, what happened to your hands?"

She blinked, looking at them on cue. Erash had seen them on the second night Legacy had slept in the base and so had Sensat. Erash knew knife scars when he saw them. They were faded but large, as if the knife had been twisted to create a large gaping wound. Sensat had looked at them with concern, ready to ask questions but she had thought wisely against it. Erash rolled his eyes, typical asari behavior to think she knew what the scars meant. No one would know except whoever Legacy told and Legacy herself.

"Are they that frightening? I didn't think anyone was down here so I didn't wear my gloves."

"No, it's just—did they hurt, ma'am? Was there—nerve damage?"

"The person who inflicted them only wanted it to be painful." She shook her head. "If I lost my hands I wouldn't be able to do my job. But, let's not get into that, Grundan. What are you doing here so late into the night cycle?" She smiled.

"Couldn't sleep." He sniffed again, eyes flickering inquisitively from her hands to her face but then dropping his gaze with a slump of his shoulders. "Came to the base—this is where I always work on the," He smiled back. "Scarf."

"Hm. It's the right blue."

"Huh?" The needles he held in one hand clattered against each other as his grip tightened.

"Your boss' blue colony markings. You got the right shade of blue."

Grundan fidgeted. Erash blinked several times from his vantage point. He hadn't realized that was what Grundan was working on. "I didn't make it in time for Christmas. The yarn has to be ordered and it takes a while for them to make."

"Understandable. We're heading into the 23rd century by Earth's standards. I doubt anyone makes the yarn anymore—at least, not for profit."

The other man nodded back and invited her to sit beside him on the floor. "Also, I'm not sure if the boss will need something like this in Cipritine. I heard it was way past being toasty there."

"Past tropical too. You can probably cook eggs on the plants." She laughed, sitting down next to him with her knees drawn to her chest. "But Vakarian can use it in other places. I hear he's been to Noveria and you can freeze over there in seconds."

He sniffed. "I don't know if he'll like it, ma'am. Kind of scared to give it to him. Erash gave it this confused look when I was half-done and I showed it to him, like I was carrying a jar of earthworms and offered him a taste."

She laughed into her drawn up limbs. When she sobered, she folded her arms above her knees and leaned her chin against them. "Erash tends to look at everything with suspicion or disgust."

"You shouldn't say it so plainly, ma'am. He can hear us."

"I'm sure he'll learn to forgive us."

Erash coughed in his room. He would—though it would take a while.

"In any case, Grundan, I'm sure that even if Vakarian has no idea what a scarf is, he'll like the gift. The effort you put into it... you're his team. It looks about done too."

"Yeah, but," He wrinkled the long stretch of fabric in his hands. "Let's talk about something else, ma'am."

"Hm, fine." She tilted her head. A sign of curiosity, Erash knew. "Where did you learn to knit? I imagine not a lot of people know how, even on Earth."

There was another bout of sniffling from Grundan before he spoke. "My pop's great-great-grandmother loved doing it. She taught her daughter and so on. But my grandma only had my dad, so she taught him. And he only had me so he taught me." He laughed airily.

"Truthfully, ma'am, I like doing it. Only thing my dad taught me before he up and left me and my ma." He paused, tilting his head as well—a mirror image of Legacy's own expression. "Did your pop teach you anything?"

"My— father only taught me things he could relate to covert ops and tactics." She smiled. "Then again, you'd be surprised by how anything could be related to the former."

"Was he Alliance?"

"Alliance? No. But he was—militaristic, you could say."

"Mm. Ma was an Alliance pilot. Away too much and then dad just—gave up." Grundan had on an expression Erash had never seen before but not the one he expected. He expected some grief, some way the skin of his face would fold into lines the same way Erash's did when he thought of his own mother and Khar'shan. Instead, it was without wrinkles. "Dad, he always had a hard time when ma was gone."

"Where were you in all of this?" Her question was a whisper.

"Knitting in my room." He laughed softly. "Remembering my dad, the good times. Like the smell of the soil from working in the backyard for too long and his laughing face when he taught me how to knit. All the flowers died when dad left and ma always did like 'em.

"Knitting helps me relax and think of him. He was a good man when he was around. I always regretted that I didn't try to contact him when ma died."

Legacy's eyes glowed, looking almost wet but Erash wouldn't delude himself. Legacy would never cry. "Then, I think you should definitely give the scarf to your boss. Tell him about your father."

"Legacy, that had nothing to do with anything."

"Didn't it?" She tilted her head, her eyes shining against the darkness. "You'd be surprised by how many things you can link to a scarf."

He smiled at her. Then looked down at the scarf, ran his hands over the large ball of yarn that was still connected to it, twisting a strand around his fingers. "Ma'am, would you accept it if knitted you something too in this color? I have a lot of excess and it would be nice to finish it all."

She blinked, head rising from its perch. "Well—that would be nice. Um, sure. What are you planning to make?"

"Good." He nodded before closing up the last of the scarf. "I want to make you pair of gloves for when you go to Noveria."

She laughed. "That," Legacy stressed, "had nothing to do with anything, Grundan."

He smiled down at her. He finished the last of the scarf and secured it before starting with his new project. "You said things could be linked to scarves, ma'am. I don't know what those are but at least the gloves I make you will be."

* * *

Erash knew that Legacy finally understood what the team of male humans meant when they started calling her ma'am.

Erash also discovered that she didn't like it.

It had happened only a few days later. The boss had called for a morning meeting and everyone was there save the boss himself, Legacy and Weaver (no one expected him to be on time, really). Mierin had been giddy because Legacy had promised that she would fix the coffee grinder the night before for her and then she could teach the girl how to finally use it without it exploding in flames.

When Legacy came down from the dorm, everyone's jaws fell to the floor. Erash never really understood that expression until he saw for himself how possible it was.

Erash would be the first to claim that Legacy was attractive, even by his standards, but only for her intellect and her resourcefulness. Nonetheless, he was aware of all the conversation between human men about what they found attractive in women.

By descriptions, what Legacy had been wearing would send the humans to the edge of their patience. And even Butler, married and happy, stared blatantly at Legacy and the pair of thigh high boots she decided to wear under black light armor that hugged her body in all the right places.

"Uh, ma'am," It was Grundan who stood fidgeting as she descended slowly down the step, holding up the now fixed grinder. She put it on the counter to hook it up. "Where are you going this morning?"

"To Afterlife. Have to get back there soon. Aria is getting bitchy and her enemies won't kill themselves." She motioned for Mierin to come close to her and she taught the other woman, as slowly as she can, how to not blow the thing up. Mierin herself looked at Legacy's legs in awe and probably barely heard a thing the other woman said.

"Oh my god, someone. Anyone. Distract the boss." Butler stood from his place on the sofa. "He could come any minute!"

"Who could come any minute?"

"Boss!" Sensat practically jumped in front of him, laughing nervously. "We just realized we're out of, uh, um—"

"Juice!" Weaver whispered helpfully. Erash would argue otherwise.

"Yes, juice!" She echoed with a little titter that left the boss confused. "Yes, we need juice. Mind getting some? You know all the cheapest places and you're already—standing."

Krul leaned against the wall and banged the back of his head against it. Erash would have too if he didn't find the whole predicament amusing.

"Juice? Who drinks juice?" The boss tried to look up but Grundan came helpfully to the rescue, standing over Sensat's shoulder and smiling broadly as he blocked the boss's view of Legacy.

"It's uh juice for, hm, for Erash! You drink, don't you, Erash?"

"Hn." The reply was neither a yes nor a no but he could barely lie to the boss. Omission would have to be the next best thing and everyone seemed thankful.

"Well, I'm sure it can wait until after the briefing—"

"No, it cannot! It cannot wait! Think, sir, think of poor Erash all in his lonesome—dying without his juice, the one thing he asks for." Monteague supplied dramatically while Butler nodded along. "Come on, boss. Have a heart."

"If you guys had hearts, you would have gotten it for him yourselves." Everyone seemed to think 'fuck' when Legacy strode over, completely blowing her cover. Two mugs of coffee in both her hands, leaving Mieirin struggling to make the cups for the others: two set-ups for levo and dextro (with the dextro one already set but Mierin was strangely dumb that way). Legacy motioned at Vortash to go to the counter with a subtle tilt of her head and he looked both grateful and scared as he strode on over there to help her. Legacy smiled, her heels clicking against the floor lightly as she handed the boss a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Vakarian. You're late."

He stared at her. Then he stared at the coffee, and then he stared at her boots. The bright and beautiful morning that Monteague and Butler had been singing about seemed to vanish before the storm brewing in the boss's eyes. Melanis chuckled darkly in her corner muttering a "Serves her right." But Sensat had shushed her with a slap on the arm.

"So," The boss started conversationally. Taking a sip of his coffee, and that seemed to lighten his demeanor but just barely. Must have been chocolate but still his face had what Mieirin had called boss' "C-Sec Investigator face" and this wasn't lost on Legacy as she leaned back on one foot, the click of her heel made him turn towards it before he looked back up at her face. "You look like you're ready to go to work. New wardrobe."

"Yes," She drank from her own steaming mug. She made a furtive glance at the pair behind her and heard Mieirin giggle at something Vortash said. "A lot of it had been ruined in the explosion. Had to buy new stuff. The boots were a gift. I think I've gotten quite attached to them."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Christmas gift from a turian friend." She smiled. "He even knew my size."

Erash laughed in his office, doubling over at the look on his boss' face. She was totally playing him, even with his whole team present.

"Turian friend?" He recovered with another sip of his coffee.

"I have mentioned I kept the close company of Grizz, right?"

"Grizz?" The boss growled. "That turian who looks like—well, he doesn't look like much compared to, hm, Sidonis." He pointed to his second-in-command who looked like he just wanted to be anywhere but in the mess hall.

"Well, that may be true—"

"You think Sidonis is attractive?" The boss interrupted and Sidonis coughed and excused himself, muttering something about going up ahead to the board room.

"I'm sure you think Grizz isn't much compared to anyone." She finished her coffee in a few short gulps and handed him her empty mug. He took it automatically and she smiled at him in thanks. "But then again, he did give me the gift for the express purpose of gawking at me. Sexual deviant of the best kind, my good friend. Owed him a favor so I obliged. Today, he collects."

"You're pulling my leg."

"You've been reading the idiom book I saw on your desk the other day!" She said with a laugh and a light knock against the armor of his arm. "Unfortunately, I am very serious. You think they'll mistake me as stripper? Oh, maybe Aria will let me dance at the poles. Just like old times."

"You danced at the poles? Boss, we have to watch that!" Ripper yelled and he was ready to get his boots when the boss sent him a glare that planted his ass back down on the chair. "Fine, ruin a man's dreams."

"Legacy, you will go back up there and wear something less—this." He motioned at all of her.

"What? Are you my father now or something?" She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms. "Come on, Vakarian. I'm old enough to kick ass and take names. It's not as if I don't get asked out every ten steps in Afterlife anyway."

"You get asked out every ten steps? Don't people have more shame these days?"

She rolled her eyes.

The boss breathed in and out, slowly. "Legacy, now that you're living here there are rules you have to follow. Protocol. I wouldn't let Mierin go out to Omega in—this." He motioned at her again.

"I thought the one rule in Archangel was no civilian casualties?"

"Well, we have two. That and no going out dressed like a hooker. Weaver breaks it all the time."

"Hah, now you're pulling my leg, Vakarian." She poked him on the chest and put a hand on her hip. "I can take care of myself. Big girl and all, daddy doesn't need to be so worried. Anyone who drags me into an alley would get the beating of his life. Plus, there is Aria and she can get pretty possessive."

"Hey, if the boss is the dad that means he and Aria are—okay, sorry boss, I won't say it." Butler moved back with his hands up in defeat.

The boss had this face, somewhat confused and angry at the same time. He also didn't know what to do with his hands (and no place to put the mugs) or his feet as he kept fidgeting. Legacy, on the other hand, stood one hip cocked to the side, waiting for some witty retort before she became impatient. "Well, I'm off. Send me a message when your wit finally catches up with you, dad. I have an ugly turian to please."

Silently and quickly, she was out the door and past Weaver who was sharp enough to catch sight of her and stare long and hard at her back before she vanished behind a tactical cloak. "Woah, does Legacy have a date or something because she is working those—"

"Do not complete that sentence if you know what's good for you, Weav." Melanis chuckled. Even with the glow of envy Erash saw in her eyes at the angry set the boss's face plates were in.

"I can't believe she doesn't think Sidonis is good looking." The boss grumbled.

Sensat rolled her eyes while laughing. "I'm sure you were talking about Sidonis, boss."

Erash then realized exactly what Legacy had intended to show them. Through the comm system, Erash laughed. "Boss, I think Legacy owns your soul."

Garrus glared at one of the cameras while taking a long drink from his coffee. Behind him, he glared at Vor and Mierin who were giggling at the machines and the mugs and belligerently called for the meeting to start.

* * *

Legacy had begun returning to the base late. Home, Erash dared to think but couldn't say. Less because he wasn't sure if Legacy felt that way after only two weeks here and more because Erash might not be able to deal with the ramifications if he ever lost the base—home, his home in the end of the galaxy.

"I should have known you'd wait up for me."

"You've been coming back well into the night cycle." The boss was cleaning his Mantis sniper rifle: had lovingly taken it apart for maintenance and laid it on the table like a baby to the crib. "I was worried you were coming in injured."

"I'm alive, fortunately. Maybe a little hit." Legacy waved a bottle of red wine. Earth made, it seemed. And pricey as hell. He had been a fan of earth wine since Legacy had brought up a few glasses for them to share before, also very late into the night cycle. "But that's only because I finally don't have to drink the swill of Noverian rum Aria loves so much—finally found out what the hell she's been serving me. I don't know if it's the ice in Omega but it definitely tasted different when I was in Noveria the last few times."

Legacy took out a wine glass, popped the cork out of the wine before making her way to the table to pour herself some. She let it "open" as she told him, swirling the contents gently in one of crystal glasses of the set she bought just for the base. Subtly, she took a sip before nodding to herself, she took another. "Nothing like a Bordeaux to make you feel alive. 2135. Chateau Mouton Rothschild. Omega has the best stuff and it doesn't even know it."

"You seem to know more about wine than the average assassin. Mentor?"

"No," She smiled fondly behind her glass at him, the rim near her lips which, Erash noted, had been painted a glowing pink. "The serious boyfriend. Learned it in secret to impress him—turns out I'm an actual oenophile and I've spent a good deal of my money on wine as I have on weapon mods so it didn't go to waste."

That had the boss struck, his hands gripping the cloth tightly as it wrinkled. Erash had to zoom the camera in to be sure but it was there. "You are the last person I would expect to want to impress anyone. Or need to."

She swished the contents of the wine more before she drank a little again. "Courtship was a new thing to me. Foreign. If you asked me how to kill a turian I would answer you in 35 different ways with 2367 variants but if you asked me about relationships: keeping them, being in them. Well, I was beyond lost."

"You barely need to be anyone but yourself to be impressive."

"You wouldn't know what I was like then." Legacy looked at the boss with glowing green eyes. "For all my faults, I knew there were things I could do to bring myself closer to him—anything would do. It was… nice."

"Hm. Sounds a lot healthier than my," He coughed. "Serious relationship—I'm sure you remember and I would rather not get into it with our favorite engineer probably listening in and very capable of ruining my integrity."

"He would never. He actually likes you."

"I tell myself that but there are days where I think he'd gladly join cult Legacy."

"There is no such thing and I would die before it happened." She pointed her empty glass at him before refilling it. The boss chuckled before going back to his gun to clean it. They spent a few moments in silence before Legacy's cheeks started turning pink and her eyes seemed to lose their knife edge. Humming under her breath, the boss heard Legacy's singing voice for the first time and turned to her—surprised, as she looked at her reflection on the bottle of wine. He hummed back, a deep sound from his turian subharmonics that signaled pleasure.

"And where did you learn to sing?"

She smiled back. "My father. His— group, there were songs in the old tongue. He taught them all to me. I used to love hearing him sing." She laughed. "And I think I learned it to impress him too!" Her smile widened at his concerned face. "Come on, Vakarian. Didn't you ever want to impress someone that if you weren't anything in their eyes your whole world would fall apart if you failed?"

The boss seemed to consider this, the parts of his beloved sniper rifle loose in his hands as he stared at her. Erash himself was unsure whether Legacy was aware of the intensity of the stare, not with the way she seemed to be falling asleep with the bottle nearly drained and lingering paint of her lipstick imprinted thickly against the rim of the glass. Layer over layer, adding color and depth into them. The boss stared at this imprint directly, aware that looking at anything else may get Legacy's head running and her unfocused eyes to train themselves at him, at the look on his face: the set of the plates, the set of his jaw as his mandible clicked tightly together.

Erash knew then, knew that he didn't have to talk to the boss about his feelings. It was plain for all to see if she looked but she didn't. Over the few short months that the boss knew her, spoke to her—Erash knew that at least the boss realized that his feelings towards Legacy were strong. And Erash would be damned but maybe he could call it infatuation, admiration. It would probably take the boss forever to realize what they were though but Erash wouldn't rush it, couldn't rush them.

Especially since Legacy herself was no open book and even all of Erash's four eyes couldn't penetrate what it was that she really felt for the boss.

And if she broke the boss's heart, even after he waited for her to fall asleep, tucking a little bit of her hair behind her ear before carrying her up at the steps—barely jostling her, and tucking her under covers before finally heading home though not before personally walking up to Erash's office to bid the batarian good night— Erash knew whose side he would choose in a heartbeat.

Edited 06.30.2014


	18. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. There may be another delay. Two weeks, at least as life takes over.
> 
> I am also open to suggestions again as the Omega arc is closing. What direction would you like the fic to go, etc.? Getting oddly complicated thus—I am open to suggestions on the ME2 verse. I won't take them all but anything you think will help would be nice.
> 
> See you in the next update.

**Chapter 15**

In a week, Archangel would be fully operational again. Normally, Garrus would be antsy and twitchy from the lack of activity but because of all the fuss Rachel—Shepard, he still couldn't believe she was Shepard—had added to his life he was never ever, really bored.

There were a lot of other changes that Shepard brought in. Quick improvements done to the base: the new cameras, the deactivated turrets, and some new tech Erash liked to stroke and coo at. He also noticed that none of it was coming out of his pocket. Sidonis had been overjoyed by her "involvement with Garrus," especially with everything she had been providing them. But Mel had scowled up at the cameras, threatened once to shoot some of them down just to see what happened.

Aside from Mel's obvious dislike, Shepard's rapport with the rest of Archangel was—interesting. Although she spent most of her days alone, early mornings were dedicated to conditioning and meditating—when Weaver was feeling up to being on time he would join her. But Rachel had never struck Garrus as sociable, so it was a surprise she had integrated herself into Archangel well.

She helped Mierin make coffee for everyone in the base, had lunch with the boys nearly every day to talk about… Garrus wasn't sure but all of them clammed up when he passed by so he stopped trying to join in (must have been some human thing). She visited Erash during her free time to talk shop and introduce him to whatever improvements she made and went shopping with Sensat because none of the other girls liked to go. What surprised him the most was that she was learning to—knit, frit? Grit?—from Grundan and every once in a while, engage in politics and Galactic chess with Sidonis.

The best part of the bargain had been when Legacy—Shepard—finally decided that she could help with a mission not as an informant but as a team player. The reason was actually an interesting story.

When their schedules crossed just yesterday, he managed to talk Shepard into a shooting competition. They set up something standard and out of HQ. To keep them on their toes they decided the rules were that the fastest and most accurate shot won. First to fifty. The winner can get the loser to do anything.

It began even enough, both of them were fast. But just like Shepard had told him once during one of their little conversations, he had more flair for the rhythm than she did. When he played "Fire in the Courtyard" with his visor, the rhythm became even more compact.

However, what surprised him was that Shepard didn't need music to set her own pace. He turned to her and noticed the steady beat of her heart through his visor and how the bullets seemed to match the pauses in between. Precise like a machine, Krul had described. Her body shook only slightly with the recoil of her gun. It surprised him. Even if she consisted of a lot of toned muscle and strict conditioning, she was still a softer and lighter human.

But her form kept the recoil at a minimum, despite the sheer massive fire power of her rifle—which he knew was another unreleased prototype— how she had gotten her hands on it, he didn't know, but was tempted to borrow it at least once. However, how she managed to cock and reload the rifle to keep up with him was a thing of beauty by itself. He was sure it had more to do with her lower body than just the strength of her shoulders and arms.

As he studied her stance he noted her long legs and her flaring hips below a slender waist. Ripper had said she had no excesses. Everything was so properly proportioned, at least to the view of a human.

But what Garrus saw was the battle honed body of a living weapon. Long legs with incredible strength and reach that made her kicks painful (he knew—he felt them) and her feet fast. Her hips allowed her immense flexibility in battle, both with the whiplash of her kicks and her dodging abilities. He recalled her spins, flips, side steps. Her waist—he had to say he was more distracted by her waist than other parts of her, it wasn't really like Melanis's (she had a _really_ nice waist) or any other turian but he was sure that Shepard's slender waist would be full of muscle and yet no excess. But if he could just reach out to check—

He was still in rhythm with his shooting, but now that his eyes were off the target, he wasn't sure which part of his body he had control of.

When he realized he really _did_ just reach out to poke her waist, Shepard shrieked like she'd been stabbed. Pulling the trigger of her rifle as she did so, a powerful bullet went passed the target with a resounding bang.

Shepard turned to him, wide eyed. She slapped his hand away from her waist. He noted the twitch of her finger on the trigger of her rifle. "I'm sure you have an explanation ready for that."

"I was curious. You're so— puny. I was wondering how you could stand the recoil." His eyes were wide with wonder at her reaction, but then he could barely hide his amusement as well. "Uh, why do you look so scared?"

"Vakarian—"

"Garrus."

"Whatever. Shit, I _missed_ because of that!" She turned her eyes to the range and then glared back at him. "And it shouldn't count because you go around poking people in the middle of target practice." She put a hand on the side of the waist where he had poked her and took a few steps back like a wounded varren.

He knew that when the plates on his face shifted, he was smiling predatorily. "Shouldn't it count?"

The point was that even if her miss hadn't counted she was still three targets behind and especially fidgety since he poked her. She hadn't stopped glaring until now, when Archangel was preparing a full operation and they had to re-enter with a bang in a week.

She shrugged as she stood by the door of the board room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed as the others stared at her. Garrus could barely hide his excitement. "Guess who decided to join us."

Shepard rolled her eyes at him. "A one-time thing, Vakarian."

"It sucks to lose bets, doesn't it, Legacy?"

"It sucks to play with a cheater, that's what." She kicked off the wall and moved closer to the table between Ripper and Sensat. Ripper made an obvious gesture of looking over his shoulder to get a look at her back side. Beside him, Mierin elbowed him in the gut and he grunted.

Rachel gave an amused side glance at Ripper before looking at Garrus. "So, what's the plan, Archangel? I have to say it's been a while since I've worked with a group. Especially one that I'm not leading myself."

"Are we clear about chain of command, Legacy?" He challenged, his subharmonics dropping low.

"Very clear, Vakarian. So long as you keep your hands where I can see them and we stay a few feet away from each other."

The silence that stretched inside the board room was a funny one. Garrus would have laughed if Melanis hadn't looked ready to rip Shepard into meaty ribbons. Weaver was the one to recover first and clear his throat. "Is there something we should know, boss?"

"Yes," He said slowly. "But I don't think Legacy would appreciate it if I told anyone."

Melanis looked from him to Shepard, eyes narrowed. Shepard herself was unfazed and just crossed her arms, chin tilted up. "Looking is harmless. It's touching that will get you in trouble." She shifted her full gaze to Ripper who looked away quickly and took a half step back. "Just a warning, Vakarian, for the next time your alien curiosity takes over. I won't resist the call for blood."

He chuckled. "Noted, Legacy. Now, since we used up some twenty minutes already, let's get to business." He faced his team and all of them stood a little straighter. "This operation will begin in precisely six days and 12 hours. We're going after a slaver by the name of Kron Harga. According to Sidonis' Intel, he has about three warehouses full of slaves in the Zeta District, while he himself is up in some penthouse less than seven clicks away. The plan is to hit them all at once. Free the slaves and kill Harga."

"We'll be hitting them simultaneously with four groups. The members will be decided based on skill se—"

Legacy put her hand up, slowly and lazily and he resisted the urge to snort when he tilted his head as a gesture to allow her to speak. "Legacy?"

"Wouldn't it be better to hit the bases one at a time? Fast paced and successive strikes from top to bottom, we hit the head first and the rest of the body will follow. This way we don't spread ourselves too thin."

"I've thought of that but I wanted to prioritize the captives first. We need to get them out of there safe and kill Harga in the process."

"If we miss the head, and likely we will if we go about it your way," She countered, earning glares from a few of his team. "Then nothing will stop Harga from doing it again and doing it safer. The hunter who chases two rabbits catches neither one, as the saying goes."

"This is a common tactic as well, boss. Tried and true." Krul nodded. Typical of a salarian to follow sounder tactics, Garrus told himself not to feel annoyed. It's not that Krul never questioned his strategies before. "It would have more long term benefits if Harga were killed first."

"If we do it Legacy's way, the people could be taken hostage and we'd have a lot of civilian casualties." Garrus glared, leaning down on the table where a holo of the warehouse blueprints were spinning. "Archangel has one rule: no civilian casualties. Not one."

"Oh?" Shepard shifted her weight to the right, hip cocked. "What happened to the second one?"

He chuckled. "You broke it and now no one will listen to me." He motioned his head at Weaver. "Look at what he's wearing."

"Hey, hey." The man took a step back and his arms up in surrender. "I only try to be well dressed. I'm not about to put on some hooker heels."

Despite the mood, Shepard and a few others chuckled before the situation caught up with them.

"Testimony to Archangel's reputation: not one single civilian caught in any of their skirmishes." Shepard recited as if from a dossier read a hundred times before. She leaned down on the table, studying the holos in front of her. She pressed a few keys on her omni-tool and a visor of light came over here eyes—a graybox? "How about this then, we go with the idea of splitting your team but instead of 4 small forces we'll have two large ones." She pressed a few buttons again on her omni-tool and the holos shifted to bird's eye view. "Two teams can lead a pincer attack—starting points warehouse A and C and reconvening at B. Quick and quiet until they reach B and have the civilians out of harm's way—then start a clamor." She smiled. "I'm a fan of either fire or explosions."

"And Harga?"

"Likely, Harga will send his people out to check the noise. If a large force of nearly 12 men were raiding his warehouses he'll likely send a whole lot of people. In the meantime, an infiltration team can—"

"Question and kill the boss at the penthouse." He nodded, his eyes that glowed with anticipation snapped to the holo in front of him. "Get the fodder out and you can have free reign for at least a few minutes. If we go with this, everything will need to be detailed from top to bottom, our time will be even stricter. Infiltration needs to be in and out. Defense and distraction needs to lead a hell lot of people out and evac as soon as the infiltration team is finished."

"Sounds complicated and risky." Melanis put her hands on her waist and tilted her head up at Legacy. Her eyes burned bright and green.

"I hear danger helps your boss sleep at night." Legacy, not Shepard, grinned back. She was thoroughly amused by Melanis' anger though Melanis herself was completely unaware that she was being played. "Also, warehouse B happens to have a tunnel entrance at walking distance. Said entrance is connected to the Gozu District, a block away from the clinic of a certain doctor who wouldn't mind a little extra business."

Garrus head snapped to Shepard at that. "You're joking?"

"I'm updated with the underground of Omega." She nodded back, her graybox still on. "If you want, I can do some reconnaissance to be sure. Take some blueprints or pictures so you can see for yourself."

"Then that would make your plan ideal." Garrus whispered. "And the people can get out safely and quietly." He closed his eyes and exhaled. "Brilliant, really."

"What a flattering tongue." She chuckled. "Good of you to remind me why I liked you despite the unnecessary touching."

He leaned back, resting on one leg as he crossed his arms. His mandibles and face plates shifting into the human equivalent of a grin. "So, you admit you do like me?"

"Just stay more than two steps away from me and you're tolerable."

"It was just a poke."

"An unnecessary and uninvited one."

"You like it."

"Lord," Butler threw up his hands. Monteague and Mierin laughed together. "Why don't you two just get married already?"

"Tell me we're talking about a literal poke and not a euphemism for something else?" Vortash laughed at Rachel's sour face. "Hey, at least you know what you want, ma'am. And better a turian than a vorcha."

Sidonis cleared his throat and put a hand on Garrus's shoulder. "We'll reconvene in a few hours with the group assignments and formations. Until then, start setting up for the mission. We have several days to gather more Intel and get back in shape." Everyone heard a dismissal but they all looked to Garrus and until he nodded they didn't make their way out the door.

The only ones who remained were himself and Shepard, and she crossed her arms and nodded. "Sorry about questioning your tactics."

"You're used to being in charge." He answered just as seriously. "I understand. None of my team questions my lead much. Sometimes Krul but even he relies on me to think on my feet when things go… awry."

"So did a certain friend of ours." She replied quietly. He realized she was talking about Alenko and didn't want Erash to overhear them through the bugs. In case he did, he wouldn't know precisely who she was referring to. "He spoke of your capabilities in a few of our meetings."

"Did he?"

"I think he'll be glad with what you've accomplished here. Even if—well, there were other places where you could have made a difference." She smiled at him, a strange one that had him glaring at her. Now she was referring to his training as a Spectre. It had taken him great pains to get into the program, even with the Commander's recommendation. He qualified, despite, and he was driven to succeed.

Frankly, that felt like lifetimes ago.

"Legacy, is there something you really want to say?"

Her smile didn't falter. "There's a possibility that Harga may be working for mutual enemies. Handing humans to them, according to an informant's Intel."

He stepped back. "How likely is it?"

"According to the findings of my informant? Huge. Number? Precisely 93.7 percent if I did my mental calculation right." She winked at his shocked expression. "Harga has one of the largest human markets in Omega. So far, the second colony hit was a human one as well."

His fists tightened at that. She was saying that it was likely the Collectors were getting human samples from Harga too. "And that's why you wanted to make sure he was going down."

"Not only that. We need to be the team that goes for the head."

"I can't have my team left alone for such a complicated near-military maneuver without me." He shook his head.

"What, you think they can't do it?"

"I have every confidence in my team." Garrus challenged her playful tone with a grin full of teeth. "But I worry. Even Ale— _he_ was pretty paranoid even when everything was going right. And for me, barely anything goes right."

"Hey," She rounded the table and approached him. Despite her complaints about their proximity, there was real worry in her face and she didn't hesitate to reach out to put a hand on his forearm. Garrus closed his eyes just so he couldn't see. Was it pity in her voice? Would it be in her eyes? He really didn't want to know.

"You're doing just fine. One step at a time, Garrus."

He nodded back and said nothing. They lingered in the board room for a long while until Shepard tapped him in the shoulder and excused herself.

_Edited 05.26.2014_


	19. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Managed to get this in by the two week deadline, but just barely. Still fixing that outline though, huff. But lightning struck a few days ago. It's a matter of finding the mood of setting it down (been rough these days, life-wise). Writing and playing video games has been a comfort, especially the support from all you lovely readers and reviewers from all my current stories.
> 
> Expect weekly updates and not early ones as I return to pace. Also, in the process of cleaning. Got to Chapter six. And working a one-shot prequel called Lore of One. Watch out for that one in the coming weeks/months. Especially Mordin fans.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you all well.
> 
> Note: Rating changed to M for violence, mentions of non-con (nothing detailed, promise). And for the swearing. Just being safe.

**Chapter 16**

Shepard was determined that this mission go right.

Clues about the Collectors were finally starting to surface. Harga would prove it was the Collectors behind the two empty human colonies at present. Or, he would prove that it wasn't the Collectors and they would all have to go back to the drawing board.

A lot was riding on this mission.

No, she told herself, it wasn't because of the face of a certain turian who needed some confidence.

If it was it would be a low priority. Very low in the face of what it would mean if there was Collector involvement.

She tried, difficult as it was, to shake off the concern. But it was hard to not find some kind of connection with the turian, with—Garrus, when she looked at him and saw her younger self. Barely 16 and fatherless, truly orphaned in a landscape of panic and rubble—lost and confused and without a guide. She only had the lessons Lor left behind and the phantom of her own making to replace her mentor.

It was stupid really, Va—Garrus was a grown man. He could handle himself; he packed his own bags, made it to Omega, and managed to stay afloat. It was slow progress but it was progress.

However, the fact that he went to Omega was worrisome. It was a cruel place to begin again and more a place to end. Garrus wasn't Rachel or Shepard of some five years ago. He wasn't born in the dark, to the cloak. He grew up in sunny Cipritine, in an esteemed family where rules and regulations made sense and justice was the handler, the solution to every stain, every wrongdoing. He had said he was frustrated that in the Citadel he found red tape instead of the scale and the sword. When Alenko died, unlike the others of the ground team, he had no one to return to and he went to Omega.

He didn't even think of returning to Palaven. Rachel knew how rooted his father's image was in the turian's brain. It was almost as much as she saw and heard Lor, only with more grudging respect.

Not to begin, but to end. Garrus didn't seem to know this himself—at least, he would never word it that way when asked.

When Shepard "retired" and she took up the first name Lorraine, Omega was also her end of the line. She had torn up the Dominion, her family and friends, and wandered here. Upon entering, she learned the hard way that the queen had to be greeted first or else a lot of shooting and blood spilling would take place. But she had enjoyed it, the slow decimation of all the people Aria had sent her way—never returning to report in. Shepard didn't see Omega as a place to purge, she saw it as a playground—a summation of all the mind games she played and all the little tricks she knew.

It was nothing like her work in the Dominion, everything moved too slowly and too unskillfully. Things only started to pick up when Aria had sent Nyreen Kandros and an asari by the name of Liselle. New pacts were formed then, and Lorraine thrived, breathed in the filth of Omega and blew it out like the smoke from a prized cigar.

Garrus Vakarian was no Shepard, no Lorraine. If they failed this—if she failed, then he might not be able to bounce back.

So, she did her homework as Legacy and more, she rechecked the tunnels—walked them back and forth and checked again where they surfaced and where they led. She put cameras up near the warehouses so Erash could find out their shifts and daily activities and routines. She used her own contacts to find out about Harga, his background and family. She returned to Archangel HQ, barely sleepy but tired. She didn't want the dreams to ruin her concentration, to derail her focus from the present.

Sensat had given her worried looks since she saw the scars in her hands. But it wasn't important, Shepard thought, she didn't have to tell any stories about them unless she was asked and she could easily lie. Grundan hadn't pried but he was a polite sort and Erash knew better than to ask.

This was important to Garrus, to his future here in Omega and maybe even after if he decided that he was not bringing ends but beginnings. He needed this to go _right_ after all the plans that have failed and led to Archangel's long sleep.

"You seem to be investing yourself."

Rachel looked up mid-move, her fingers still pinching the head of the holographic knight before she set it on the board silently. She slid further into the cushion of the upholstery, eyeing Lantar Sidonis in the calculating way she used to when she was part of Dominion and a turian grunt had spoken out of line.

Sidonis had a knack of sounding more condescending _than_ condescending, as impossible as that sounded. It was really no wonder Melanis would sooner bite his head off than ever apologize, temper be damned.

"Oh?"

"I hear you aren't doing much of the queen's chores." He made his move, moving one of the pawns on the far right forward, taking one of her own.

She responded by moving her bishop to eat the pawn. "Vakarian is a friend. And likeable. I tend to keep those type of people alive."

"Hm."

She watched him move his own knight then reached out, hovering above her rook before finally moving it to eat one of the detached pawns on the left side of the board. "What is it that you really wanted to say, Sidonis?"

"That," He didn't make his next move—only fixed a gaze on her that attempted to drill right through her. She had thicker skin than that, however. "You may as well join Archangel."

"Oh?" She noted the shift of his face plates near his jaw: showing aggression at the repeated expression. She intended to do it again to annoy him.

"You've acclimatized fine enough. You work well with most of us. Frankly, I don't know why Garrus hasn't extended the invitation yet."

"I work alone. He respects that."

"Now. As far as you've mentioned, you know how to work and lead a team. And I know by our chess games and our conversations that you're reasonably intelligent."

"Oh?" She needed to ask Erash for a copy of this conversation. Just so she could replay this angry expression she was seeing on his face right now. "I'm guessing the only person you haven't patronized is Vakarian—otherwise, you wouldn't be where you are now."

His eyes sharpened and he moved his knight to eat the rook. In turn, she moved her bishop to take his knight. "Think about it. We work well together."

"We?"

"You and Archangel. You understand."

Her eyes narrowed at the nuance of his dual-tone. She knew enough about turian voices to hear the ownership there. "I'd rather not."

"Give it some more thought."

She looked away from him slowly to study the board, shimmering white and blue. She predicted that she could take him down in under four moves. She wondered how much forethought he ever put into the chess games or if it was a ruse to make it appear as if they got along.

She wondered how Garrus interpreted any of this, and if he knew that his second-in-command saw himself as _the_ Archangel as well.

She didn't reply, only playing her three moves and ending the game. All the while, Sidonis kept his eyes keenly on her.

* * *

"There's something we need to discuss."

Garrus looked up from the datapads prepared for him by both Shepard and Sidonis. The former walked into the board room and locked the door behind her. Without any prompting from Garrus, she waved at the surveillance cameras and the blinking lights from them went dark. He laughed, it seemed she had Erash in her back pocket. Either that or she made an exceptional bribe, Garrus would bet a krogan's quad it was that new omni-tool out in the market now.

"What is it, Shepard?" He expected her to recoil from the use of her name but instead she hummed and turned away.

"It's about the operation." She leaned against the desk, back to him. She crossed her arms. "You really won't accompany me to meet Harga?"

"I need to go where I can do the most good." He looked back at the datapads. "Frankly, the idea of fitting into air ducts and bending one two many ways isn't very appealing to me. Firefights are more my thing."

He could hear the amusement in her laugh. "We need that evidence. Assign me another man."

"You okay with that?"

"As long as he can keep up. And I know that Weaver's been to at least N4. I see it in his bearing. He'll do fine. As you said, we need to know the truth."

"We do, Shepard. And I know you can get it."

She nodded. "There's a possibility that he knows nothing too."

"Hey, what was that saying?" He looked up at the ceiling. "Where there's smoke—"

"There's fire. Hah, you have been reading the book."

"I live to please." He bowed his head mockingly at her when she turned around to face him. "We'll know. Really know. And then all the work the Commander wanted to accomplish— well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there." She mock clapped at his use of euphemism. "Something tells me you want to discuss something else as well, though."

"Yeah." Her eyes shifted a bit before finally settling on him. "Who's leading team two?"

"Sidonis," He answered readily. "Who else would it be?"

Humans usually went through all sort of expressions and colors. But Shepard's hardly ever changed, even her smile looked the same. He only noted the added steel that reflected in her eyes the way a turian's face plating often glinted at the sight of danger. "Don't want to give another person the spotlight?"

"Hm. I was thinking Mel, she has a good head on her shoulders. And even Grundan. He's led a team once before."

"Ah, he was former Alliance too before he decided to quit." She nodded.

"Did he tell you that?"

She chuckled. Maybe he laid on the curiosity in his sub-vocals a little too thickly. "We have late night cocoa together sometimes. And the knitting is an interesting hobby."

"Right." Garrus coughed. "But Sidonis stays."

"Any of the two would make good choices."

"He has experience leading Archangel. We need the coordination to get this done." He studied the blank look on her face longer and could read nothing there. "Why?"

"I already told you about how you may be delegating too much to Sidonis, right?"

"And I heard." He felt his own face plates shift. "This is barely your team, though."

"Krul said you have to know the difference, right?" She sighed. He waited for her to argue but Shepard only shrugged. "Let's go over the plan again."

Garrus worried about the way she gave in to that argument too fast. Too fast for something she liked to mention every time she had too much to drink. He shook off his worry, however, and set his eyes on the datapads. "We'll go through your info again. Let's start."

* * *

Twenty minutes into the operation and everything was going as planned. Phantom team which consisted of herself and Weaver managed to slip into the building, climb into the ducts and run up emergency staircases to avoid cameras and guards. The penthouse was located on the 21st floor, they made it halfway before they apprehended two of the kitchen staff, knocked them out, took their clothes, and stashed their bodies.

They all had another twenty minutes before a scheduled report to the penthouse was due, they needed at least ten to set up and get all the people out of the warehouses and out of harm's way.

Shepard had a good amount of foresight to know that for a job like this, armor would be a nuisance. Of course, Garrus had put up a fuss for the worst case scenarios stating that: "I know you can dodge bullets, Legacy. But Weaver isn't as amazing."

She raised an eyebrow at that, hand on her waist. "You think I'm amazing?"

He chuckled. "You know it."

She laughed back. "I'll keep the man safe, Vakarian. No armor, we'll be fine. I'm not naked or anything, the skin suit can deploy at least two rounds of medi-gel."

"Yes, because what you're wearing now leaves a lot to the imagination."

She rolled her eyes. "All right, dad. Your boy can keep his hands to himself, can't you, Weaver?"

"Ah, yeah. Yes. Huh." Weaver managed to shake off his staring long enough to look at Garrus in the eye. "Just looking. Looking is nice enough."

Garrus's eyes narrowed at that but she slapped him on the shoulder. She gestured with her fore and middle fingers, pointing at her two eyes and then at his. "Focus, Vakarian. We can do this. _You_ can do this."

They waited in their new uniforms, their skin suits under them. They've studied together what habits Harga had and at precisely seventeen-hundred hours Harga called in for some food. At the moment, while the two of them walked into the elevator, unnoticed by the guards on duty with a cart of food and a bottle of Merlot, teams Beta and Alpha had approximately 20 minutes to evac the civilians into the tunnels before they started an outrageous firefight.

"All smooth for now," Sidonis reported in through her comm with more than a little flair to his flanging that she recognized as military chest-pounding, as Mordin liked to call it. "Heading to warehouse B, total number of rescued is eight. All human. Sending Grundan to lead them to the tunnel opening. ETA to warehouse B seven minutes, will be on standby until instructed otherwise."

"I read, Beta." Garrus answered. "Have ten with me, all human. Sending Mierin to the tunnel with them to go ahead. ETA to warehouse B five minutes. Begin infiltration the moment you hit warehouse B, Beta."

"Heard Alpha, nearing location."

"Noted, Beta. Phantom?"

Legacy smiled at Weaver who grinned back. They were aware that the whole building was bugged and it would have to look like they were talking to each other if they had to say anything at all. "Dinner is about to be served. Three minutes before it gets cold." The elevator climbed up the penthouse. There were only two guards stationed there and Harga was only accompanied by the occasional hooker—or worse, one of his smuggled goods.

Harga was wrapped up in nothing but a bathrobe while looking out the large windows, the warehouses in his sights. All they could make out of him was his back and his white hair as they set up the table for his meal. The ruby red liquid of the wine he held caught the light of the restless Omega.

"Quiet tonight. Moris, have you checked in on the warehouses?" He asked one of the men standing guard. He barely looked at the two infiltrators as he made his way toward his boss.

"Same time as always, sir. About 12 minutes ago. Nothing off to report."

"Hm. Check in on them now. Omega is never this quiet."

Weaver mouthed an "Oh shit" that Legacy could read even with her eyes closed. Harga wasn't one of the most successful slavers by being stupid or lucky, it seemed.

She steeled her nerves, however, and her face remained expressionless. Shadows worked with at least 30 percent improvisation, after all. Looking up with a smile, adjusting the skirt she wore, she approached Harga with the clicking of her heels. She activated her comm so that Garrus and Sidonis could hear that they should pick up the pace "Sir, would you like to sample the wine or shall I just pour it?"

Harga turned to look at her. He studied her face and his grin widened. "What do you have for me, sommelier?"

"What is happening up there, Phantom?" Garrus's voice crackled in. Weaver behind her had just finish setting up the table before he pulled out two glasses and the Merlot that had been in the ice bucket. He handed it to her carefully and she nodded her thanks.

"Leave us." Harga ordered roughly. Legacy nodded at the near wide eyed look Weaver was giving her. She motioned at the direction of the guards behind the large aquarium that had replaced a wall, silently telling him to take care of that. Weaver smiled, nodded, and began walking away.

"New Contact wine from Tiptree. A 2169 vintage. Would you like to discern for yourself the taste before your dinner is served?"

Harga walked towards her, too close for comfort that Legacy resisted the urge to reach for the knife she strapped to her leg. "I'd like your opinion on the taste as well, sommelier." He whispered into her ear, right into her comm.

She stepped away to pour the wine before she heard Garrus cuss in his own language. "We're going double time, Beta. Harga is onto us. Phantom is distracting him."

"I heard, Alpha. Count 12 people, all human. Moving in to infiltrate."

"Met with Grundan, boss." Mierin's voice crackled despite the thick wall of the tunnels. "People all accounted for. ETA to Gozu is twenty minutes."

"Excellent. Setting up the distraction now. Beta, be ready to extract. Phantom—"

She had poured the wine into her own glass, noted the color in the light. "A fine red, ruby against the light." She swirled its contents and breathed in the smell of sweet grapes inside. "A young scent for its vintage: a mix of summer fruit and subtle spice. A property of Tiptree Merlot grapes." She took her sip, rolled it in her tongue. "Ah, but with a superb and mature taste for its year."

"Not disappointing then?" Harga took a hold of her waist and took her glass from her hand before his own shadowed hers. His grip was rough and heavy. She was assured he wouldn't see the large scars on her as she had hidden them with cosmetics but the fact that he touched it—

When she heard the two bodies drop and Harga looked away from her for a brief second, she didn't hesitate to kick him in the gut and slam his head down on the table. He lifted his head to scream but she banged it thrice and watched the blood run down his forehead.

"Secured," She said through the comm as she held Harga's hands behind his back. Weaver came back, pressing buttons on Moris's omni-tool. "Alpha, Beta."

"Beta team copies." Sidonis answered. "Securing people down the tunnel. Alpha left behind as defensive line. No response from Alpha."

"Alpha? Do you copy?" She asked and nothing but static came out. She turned to Weaver and he nodded.

"Men, what's going on?" Weaver asked through Morris's comm.

"We've got them, boss. It looks like Archangel is trying to get in on our supplies." There was the distinct sound of gunfire and explosions. "Just the bastards won't die."

"There seems to be some trouble over at warehouse C. Send men there immediately." Weaver winked at Legacy and she smiled back when the lieutenant said he'd do what he was told. All they'd find in warehouse C were dead comrades.

"Alpha, do you copy? We got some of them off you."

"Re-read, ja-jammers are bl-bl-blowing sta-stat- static." Shepard sighed at the sound of his voice. "Le-leaving through the tu-tu-tunnels in three. That gi-gives you t-ten min-minutes, Pha-Phan-tom."

A wave of relief came over her, one she couldn't control. An argument was on the tip of her tongue but she quenched it. There was a mission now. "Understood. Erash," She said over the comm while she dragged Hagar into a chair. "Head to LZ."

"Copied, Phantom. Heading to LZ. ETA eight minutes."

Weaver secured Hagar's hands and tied him to a chair. Shepard turned her comm off. "Weaver, it's very important you not discuss anything you hear now. Your boss trusted that you would keep this secret. Am I clear?"

"He did mention something like that." He turned off his own comm. "I'm not allowed to ask questions, either."

She smiled. "Good man. Please stay by the door as lookout."

"Got it, ma'am."

When Weaver left, Shepard turned to Hagar, she slapped him awake until he came to with a start and a gasp. She took the only weapon she brought, a pistol that carried a handful of bullets and didn't have much bite but to the man with no shields and at point blank range she could blow his head clean off his shoulders.

"Are you working for the Collectors?"

Most confessed at this moment but Hagar was a human who made a living selling people. His heart was closed, a businessman of pure profit—intelligent and severe. He wasn't someone to back down from the challenge as his market was already being successfully run by batarians and seedy merc groups.

"Fuck you."

Rachel or Lorraine, neither of these identities would do. She knew that for this mission, for this moment she had to be Shepard of the Dominion. She hit him on the side of the head with the heel of her hand. "Are you working for the Collectors?"

Shepard had been the head of these sessions. All the secrets had to be heard by her and nothing could or should pass her own eyes or ears. Rachel told herself that she didn't enjoy it—the look of pain in a man's eyes, the sound of his screams, the scent of blood but sometimes—sometimes she did.

Shepard did.

Normally, she would take her time with threats. But she really didn't have the time. Shepard took over, as she did when she was in the Dominion.

"Hit me. Kill me." Harga laughed and coughed all at once. "My men will know something is up and they'll come running. You're not going to get shit, you fucking cunt." He spat down at her shoes and laughed again.

"Really?" She asked slowly, her voice timbers lower. "I wonder if your daughter can handle it."

Harga's whole body froze and his eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"You didn't think I didn't know about your daughter Harga? Don't think I know where she goes to school, cared for by a nanny in Shanghai? How she's waiting for daddy to come home?" Shepard smiled. "I wonder how she's going to feel when I come by instead. How easy it will be to—" She laughed as she imagined what she could do, how Shepard could hurt her. She knew it would be in her face and Harga would see it there.

"You can't. You're bluffing."

"Regine Harga." She said. "Brown eyes. Brunette. A bear name Claude that she carries everywhere. Maybe I can treat her the way you do your cargo. The things you've done to them. The things you've use them for."

"You're lying."

She smiled, her fingers silently going over her omni-tool. She hacked into his own omni-tool so he could hear as well.

"Hello?" A small voice said through the line. "Daddy? Is that you?"

"Regine!" His daughter couldn't hear him. Shepard made sure of that.

"Daddy, there are some men here. They—"

When Shepard cut the line, that's when she knew she had him, when he was reduced to nothing but tears. Harga now was the coward underneath the shit as he spilled everything he knew. It was the Shadow Broker who got him this deal. It was the Collectors who told the Broker to get human samples. He had no clue what he was trying to do with them, however.

What was surprising was he revealed that it wasn't only human samples being sent to the Collectors. Other races were being rounded up, according to his spies. Proof was in his omni-tool. Summary of them so far were an asari and turians. Shepard cussed mentally, she needed to get Nyreen to speed things up then.

Then he begged for death and he begged, please, god— don't hurt my little girl. He would tell her anything, just not Regine—not Regine.

Shepard stored the clips of data he motioned were in his omni-tool. Then she patched another call in as he wriggled from his binds and cried.

"Do it," she simply said. She patched the audio into Harga's omni-tool. To let him hear his daughter: crying, screaming.

All this before she shot him twice between the eyes. His face a mess of tears and pain, his eyes wide open.

As they went up to the roof, Erash in the shuttle waiting for them, Weaver took one look at her and the blood she was covered in and asked nothing. Only his face gave away everything he felt, and Legacy couldn't speak to him now. Even as Shepard slowly faded away.

Hagar's blood slid down her face as the shuttle rose up. Rachel looked down at her hands, remembered the way his touch had lingered and told herself she deserved to enjoy that and he deserved to suffer for it, banishing Regine from her thoughts.

Edited 06.01.2014


	20. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies. My grandfather passed away. The days have been blending. And, well, I hadn't realized I hadn't posted an update.
> 
> Also note: This story is looking for a temp beta (but if it works out well, we could talk long term). If you know anyone or would like to do it: just PM. I would like someone whose familiar with Mass Effect Lore, has excellent grammar and a keen eye for it, and most importantly: on time, efficient, trustworthy, and friendly. Link me a story you've beta-ed in the past too. A big plus if the story is awesome. :))
> 
> I hope this chapter find you well.

**Chapter 17**

"We need to assemble a team. We can't do all of this as fast as we need to."

Shepard paced in front of Nyreen Kandros who sat across her, easily keeping her balance on a blown up and ill-repaired pipe. This part of the tunnels was always dank, and even a wandering vorcha wouldn't want to come near the awful smell that emitted from some of the busted waterways.

It wasn't something former Black Ops agents actually gave a kilxen's ass about, having rolled in worse things— none Shepard liked to remember.

"I can't believe I heard those words come right out of your mouth." Kandros's sub-vocals reverberated with amusement. "You even hated working with the Dominion sometimes."

"They complained about stupid things. Zachrael always talked about how his suit was never the right shade of red." Kandros snickered and Shepard passed her a datapad. "Speaking of which, he took care of the nuisance in the Alliance. He won't be looking for the First Seven again."

Kandros took the datapad, a few seconds into reading it she tossed it back with a frustrated growl. "Humans seem to always choose the most inhumane way to end someone's life."

"Why fit the punishment to the crime? Dead is dead."

"Have one of your own pose as his lover? Have him betray the man, shoot him at point blank range? Have the lover arrested based on planted evidence?" Kandros continued, eyes glowing with the sharpness of a knife's edge. "I know it's been years since we've question each other's ethics but—"

"You don't think I know how far Shepard can go?" Was her deadpanned answer, but behind her eyes she saw Harga crying and she heard Regine screaming. "But this is something Zachrael decided, his method, and he got it done."

Kandros's mandibles clicked together. They spent several moments of silence before she hummed. Leaning forward, elbows on her thighs and head bowed. Apparently, the subject was dropped. "Are you planning to assemble the Dominion for this?"

Shepard shook her head, no. "It's too early. They need to be where they are."

"They're your extra pair of eyes and ears." Kandros nodded. "I understand."

"More than that. But they'll come running if I call them. But it isn't that time yet, Kandros. They're good where they are until then."

"If only the Cabal was as organized." Kandros tossed her one of the datapads she had in a pile. "The planting is taking a while, old grudges and all."

"About that," She tossed it back and pressed a few buttons in her omni-tool. Sending you some evidence, real evidence. You're not going to like it."

Kandros hummed as the message reached her private and secure line. "Spirits, you're not serious."

"Seems like the Collectors have made humans their priority but turians and asari aren't exempted." Shepard nodded. "A slaver by the nickname Dreggs: a turian with an impressive military recorded before being discharged. Something about—issues relating to others. Anyway, he schedules monthly visits to Palaven. According to Harga's notes, he's most likely the Collector's contact for turian samples."

"Where is he getting the turians?"

"His favorite spots? Where people won't normally look." She pressed a few buttons on her omni-tool again. "Mostly the more silent colonies, then he moves them about. Jumps them from human and asari colonies, mostly. Very difficult to track, even Harga's network hasn't caught the exact places."

"And yours?"

Shepard grinned. "Better luck. We'll have a pattern up in a couple of months, I hope."

"That's too much time. I need to get this to the Hierarchy."

"And then what? They'll just jump right in and believe that the Collector's exist? That this isn't just some human problem? As the Council thinks it is." Rachel's eyes narrowed, remembering the news from her Alliance contacts.

"I believed."

Shepard didn't mean to laugh, though it came out more like bark than anything with any real mirth. "Err on the side of caution. The Hierarchy didn't accept Commander Alenko's word about the Reapers. And even you only half-believed that."

"Legacy," Nyreen stood up from her seat. Her talons dulled but still the poke to her shoulder had her take a step back. "Many innocent people are being— they're being abducted, likely killed, by some urban legend less than half the galaxy population thinks exists. But you have solid evidence now, the Hierarchy needs to move."

"It's not going to be that simple, Kandros." Shepard motioned at the tunnels, her arms stretched out. "Look around you, don't you remember why you left Palaven and why you left the Cabal? Just so you know, since you've been living under a rock, it hasn't changed all that much."

Kandros gave her this look, like she wanted to argue and her mouth was open to retort but instead she clicked them shut and looked away. "You're saying we need harder evidence."

"And a pair of eyes who'll see the horrors, someone they'll believe."

"They'll believe Shepard."

"No."

Nyreen tilted her head. "Why? Going rogue doesn't stop Shepard from being efficient or real."

"Kandros—" Rachel looked away.

"Did," Kandros leaned forward. "Did something happen?"

"Nyreen," RacheI exhaled. "I don't want to disappear."

Kandros said nothing at first, only leaving her seat to approach her friend, her long time comrade. She slowly put her hands on Legacy's shoulders, making sure their eyes connected and didn't stray. "She is only a persona, someone you created. A mask you wear. Just like the hundred others you've created."

"I know."

"She is just another part of you. A small part of you."

"I know."

"Don't be afraid of the darkness."

Rachel held back a strangled cry, she leaned her forehead against her friend's shoulder. The fingers of her left hand went over her right ones, managing to feel even through the gloves the old scars there, her mind going over the lesson that had been ingrained at its creation. Squashing the memories of Harga, the way he went over her hands and scars as if he had her permission.

"I need to leave Archangel." Rachel held her breath. "Staying— it's getting dangerous."

Kandros's grip on her shoulder tightened a fraction but only for a second.

They would go over the rest of the plan. All the things Kandros would need to do.

But later, Rachel thought. Worry about everything later.

* * *

Things changed after the mission. Garrus told himself he understood but none of it made any sense. It had been a week and he'd read and heard Shepard's report but she didn't meet his eyes the whole time. She'd told him that the Collectors were on the prowl and it was time that she started moving as well. He wanted to know what she had meant, but she didn't need his dismissal to leave the board room before they were done.

Despite the fact that Shepard lived in Archangel HQ, he now barely saw her. He was thinking that after everything he knew about her, she'd soften up a bit. Instead, she looked at him neutrally behind the mask of Legacy, nodded at him politely, barely stopping to talk. Legacy had stepped up in earnest, her influence in Omega increasing. He couldn't leave HQ or his apartment without hearing some whisper about Aria's prophet.

Legacy was always on her feet, sometimes gone for days before coming back looking a little more worn and a little more tired. In rare mornings where he told himself to get up earlier to catch her, she would be in the lower levels of the base, cameras and lights off. She had informed Erash to make sure no one came in because she was meditating—training—something about the maintenance of the body because there was so much work to do and she needed to be in top shape despite the lack of rest.

"It's a miracle you lived by yourself for so long. You look like you're about to pass out." Sensat observed, on a rare day that Garrus had caught Legacy while she was in the lower levels—she was being forced to eat by the asari who stood in front of the woman with her arms crossed. Garrus had been impressed that the Sensat had managed to strong arm Shepard into doing something she obviously thought she didn't have time to do.

He hadn't entered the room though, choosing instead to lean against the door frame and wait. Telling himself that what he was doing wasn't another form of dishonesty, and that he shouldn't feel that he was intruding because—hey, they didn't bother to close the door.

They were the only three in the base (save Erash who barely left) as Sidonis had taken the team for some action to get them back into shape—and to let the mercs know that Archangel was back in full force, especially since they've dealt with Harga thoroughly.

"I ran out of stims."

"You could become dependent on those."

Shepard shrugged. "Too late." She poked at something that looked like a paste of yellow vomit to Garrus. Erash had told him that Sensat's cooking was decent but at least Nalah made levo look tasty even to him.

"Just what have you been doing that needs to run you ragged?"

"The next step of a very important project. One that should be completed soon." Shepard answered, from the door he could only see the back of her head but he noticed her shoulders were stiffening and her back straightening. His eyes narrowed. Reapers, it was the project she was investigating about the Reapers, he was sure. "Before then, there are many things I have to do before I leave Omega."

He froze behind the door frame. Was that what she meant by starting to move?

"What?" Sensat took the words right out of him. "Will Aria even let you?"

"I don't think she can stop me, even if she blew up every ship in the docks." He could hear the smile in her words. "I'm predicting I'll be gone in a couple of months' time. I'm just making sure I have everything set before I go."

Sensat looked about ready to burst into tears when he took a small peek at her. It had been strange how easily attached she had become to Shepard, despite how little she knew of her past. It was probably that asari thing. Or just that Sensat thing. "It's only been a few weeks since you've lived here and you're moving already?"

Shepard sounded apologetic. "This was never a permanent thing."

Sensat was still frowning. "But, what about your hair? And shopping? Mierin hates that stuff and Melanis gives me this 'What's wrong with you?' look on her face, like I'm some kind of talking klixen."

Shepard let out a very airy chuckle. "You did spend a lot of my credits on hair products for me. I'm never going to use them, you know."

"But they made your hair so soft." With that Sensat reached for Shepard's dark hair, he had marveled at the red sheen of it too, now Garrus wondered what the asari meant by soft. "When I touched it the first time it felt icky."

"You didn't touch it, you _pulled_ it. And," Shepard tugged her hair out of Sensat's hands. "I hadn't showered in a few days, of course it was going to be vile—Omega's tunnels aren't actually clean and pristine."

"Tunnels? Ah, the ones we used when we went after Harga. The boss said you showed him some other paths from here to Afterlife."

"Yes, I have a contact who lives down there. Setting things up for me as well for when I have to get moving. Time is slipping away from me."

Sensat sighed. She kneeled down in front of Shepard—taking the tray of food from her lap as she did so. She moved closer towards Shepard so that their figures lined into one before she leaned her forehead on Shepard's.

Garrus swallowed at the sight of that, the gesture was so intimate—so revealing in turian culture. He hadn't failed to notice that it was also very uncomfortable for Shepard, who knew too much about aliens. She had balked but Sensat held her strongly in place, hands and arms glowing blue with her biotics.

"Is time really slipping away from you?" Sensat whispered but it was loud enough that his sharp ears had picked it up.

"Sensat," There was a warning tone to Shepard's voice. In a fight between a powerful biotic like Sensat and a clever and agile Shepard, he wondered who would win. Right now, he didn't want to find out. "I don't need your mind-reading asari shit. Let. Go."

Sensat moved back but didn't let go. Her face was calm but her eyes shone with hurt. "Are you just waiting to die?"

"I'm not ready to die." She didn't say the words, _not yet._ Garrus hoped it was not meant to be added for a reason.

"Because there are things you have to do?"

"No, because I haven't sat down and waited for it to come to me." She hissed. "I'm not playing this game with you, Sensat. If you don't let go of me, I will hurt you."

"It must be painful for you to trust others, Legacy. The scars on your hands—"

"These scars—"

"You did them to yourself, didn't you?"

When Shepard—no, when Legacy struck, it was fast. Faster than the time it took for Sensat to summon her biotics. In a ruthless, cruel way she had kicked the asari on the chest and Garrus heard the crack as Sensat fell and slid back, clutching her chest with a groan that had her whole body bowed forward. A broken rib must be the least of it.

"Don't claim to understand me, Sensat." Legacy had stood up then, looking down as the asari looked up at her. Sensat's eyes were full of unshed tears. "Not everything awful involves pain."

"I hear you dream." The tears fell, freely and without scorn. A cord inside of Garrus resounded then. How dare Shep—Legacy do this? To someone who was only trying to help her? To the nicest person Garrus has ever really known? "And all the nights you spend awake so you don't have to fall asleep to them."

"You're not the first person—not the first asari—to claim you can help me, heal me, and even change me. But as far as I'm concerned, I've asked for no one's sympathy. These dreams remind me of what I can do and what I can't."

"They afflict you, they haunt you—"

"They warn me. Tell me about the things I can and can't have."

Sensat sobbed then, her eyes closing as she shook her head. "Goddess, Legacy—you're so broken. You're so broken and you don't even know it."

"And what? You think you can fix me?"

"You know someone can!" Sensat yelled back, her eyes still wet but narrowed and bright. "Talk to someone—me, Dr. Solus—Garrus—"

Legacy turned away then, moving towards the exit where Garrus stood and hadn't bothered to move. When she did step beside the door frame, right next to him, he glared at the side of her head. He was going through the entire conversation in his mind, spinning it around, trying to make sense out of it. He looked down at her hands, wondered about the scars before shaking himself mentally for trying to defend Legacy.

Sensat had seen something deeper, past the bones and into the Spirit that watched over Shepard—the Spirit that demanded her to be this solitary figure, the single shadow that had been cast by no known figure. Even when Spirits were not supposed to intercede in anyone's life, she had let one rule her.

"I could kill you." He whispered.

"You could try."

"Boss—"

Garrus growled, subharmonics trilling sharply at Sensat to be quiet. "You don't have to defend her, Sensat. I saw what happened. Legacy, I'd like to ask you to leave the premises immediately."

"Is that a command, Vakarian?"

"If you're not out of here by the next half hour—"

"A simple yes or no would have sufficed." Legacy's boots padded forward and up the stairs.

"No, boss!" Sensat stood up then. "She can't leave. She needs—"

"Drop it, Sensat." He spoke softly to her as he watched Legacy vanish up the stairs. "She doesn't want our help."

* * *

Time flies when there's no one to watch over. The next two months she spent in Omega were a strange blur. Vakarian had pinged in that he no longer needed her Intel, as he had spent the two months improving that system already. She hadn't replied to that, but then maybe she should have so at least they would technically still be talking.

She did her visits to Mordin's clinic every other day when the dreams became worse—looping and nonsensical, barely memories like they usually were. He had banned her from the stims but instead gave her immune boosters and pills that would make her forget the nightmares.

"Dreams linked with your stress levels, Shepard. Cause is likely psychosomatic. Moment you're happy, surely, no bad dreams. Pretty straight forward."

She smirked. "I am a straight shooter. Even my dreams don't dawdle."

"Did something happen? Trigger old trauma?"

"A little." She sighed. "I had to be Shepard for a while."

"Hm." He passed her a few pills. "You are always Shepard."

"No," She smiled. "Not always."

She didn't expect Mordin to understand what she meant. She had tried to explain it to him before but he reduced it to some medical-psychological jargon. Really, salarians. "You— fighting with the turian?"

She rolled her right shoulder. "More like a falling out. We're not likely to talk much in the future. I hurt one of his— family. Understandable. I'd probably kill me already if I was in his place, he's showing me mercy."

"How much of the truth did you tell him?"

She looked directly into Mordin's eyes. "Too much."

He blinked at her. "Will you kill him? Or shall I?"

"The turian has some integrity. He'll keep the info so long as he thinks he owes it to his commander." When she stood from her seat, she stretched. "And Archangel is back on the streets. If I know him, he'll ignore everything I told him to do and go back too fast and too strong. I'm banking Omega will kill him."

"Shepard," Mordin said quietly. "Do you want Omega to kill the turian?"

"I don't know." She answered with her arms crossed and a shrug. "But I hope it's a good death. A worthy death."

She was also finishing things with Patriarch, the jobs he had wanted her to do were simple next to the one about the vorcha—most of them assassinations of figures that Aria had neglected because they looked non-threatening but Patriarch claimed he knew better. In exchange, he had given her connections to clan Urdnot in Tuchanka. No doubt ruled by Wrex, she'd heard he was already setting up a movement to unite the other clans. If she could help with that and not get killed, maybe Wrex and the other krogans would prepare as a unified whole for the Reaper threat or the more immediate Collector one. In the meantime, Kandros would work on the Hierarchy.

When she moved up the stairs to Aria's floor of Afterlife, she had slung her pack and her rifles over one shoulder. The boot heels clicked over to where Grizz stood and he stared at her—then down at her legs and his face plates shifted into the equivalent of a grin.

"Never gets old, Legs."

"Of course. This is goodbye, Grizz."

"For now." He hummed. "Omega will always have a place for the best."

She smiled. "For now. Try not to die."

She felt his eyes on her as she moved up the stairs, she spotted Aria with her legs crossed and her arms on the backrest of her sofa. Rachel didn't hesitate to take her seat.

"So, this is the end of us?" Aria said in a bored tone.

"I could almost cry."

Aria smirked. "You wouldn't though."

"If you cry first maybe I will." Rachel grinned back.

Aria shook her head. "We'll keep each other's tabs open. For now, you've done enough. We'll look into your little—Collector problem." Her face became dark. "Hate those little shits on Omega as much as the next person who actually knows they exist."

Rachel nodded. "I would appreciate that, Aria. Can you also—"

"Get a stand in for Legacy?" Aria called for a drink. One for both of them and despite the shitty taste of the Omega equivalent of Noverian rum—it might be the last drink she'll share with a friend for a while. "Liselle just came back from an assignment. I'm sure she'd love to try and fill your shoes."

"Hah, that old brat?" Legacy took the drink from the krogan with a small thanks. Liselle had been in an out-of-Omega mission in Thessia. She wasn't like most asari, she wasn't high on Rachel as a lot of them seemed to be. She was more like her mother, Aria, (a surprisingly well-kept secret) but without the cold air. Definitely, not as interesting or as charming as Aria herself, though. "Has she even improved?"

"She's eager to try." Aria shook her drink, the rock of ice clunked against the sides of the glass. "Long way to go."

"Well, Legacy is the bastard daughter you should have had."

"That she is." Aria looked into her eyes. Rachel didn't want to read into them and be right about what she would find there. "You watch yourself in krogan hell. I'll try to take care of the turian."

"Don't try too hard."

"Please." Aria lifted her glass, calling for Rachel to toast on it. "I wasn't the one watching his ass for months straight."

Rachel rolled her eyes at the obvious provocation. "It had a pretty amazing view. You should know, you've been with one or two turians within this century."

"Shut up, you punk, and let's toast already."

Rachel chuckled breathily, their glasses clinked against each other before they both took the drink down hard, letting it burn down their throats in gulps of fire.

* * *

It had occurred to Garrus that he wasn't entirely sure what he was mad about. The fact that Shepard had suddenly withdrawn into her tiny shell? The fact that she would have killed Sensat without remorse? Was it a combination of both?

He hadn't intended to ignore her for so long. He had thought about talking to her, at least within the week that she had left HQ since she had said she was leaving soon (another frustration—that she had chosen to leave so readily) but then he heard Legacy was still running about Omega and hadn't been worried.

Instead, he pinged for her to meet him at Eden Blue and he had brought—what he had completely forgotten to give her—the Christmas present. He had put a special amount of time thinking about what to give her that wasn't too obvious. His first gift had been all right but after the Indra he had to scrap it and think of something else.

He had rehearsed what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to ask—and when the woman in black armor came up to the front of the table, he looked up from his musings with his mouth open.

"You—You're not Legacy." He noted the blue skin, the lack of human hair. "What—"

"I am Legacy now." She answered with her mask on. "I have all her responsibilities: her intranet address, her old armor, her watching over Archangel." Her eyes sparkled and she leaned against the seat, smiling at him. The high note of her voice mocked him. "Didn't she tell you she was leaving?"

"No."

"Hah, she can be so cruel." The smile in her eyes didn't leave. "And so why did you call me here?"

"I thought someone else would come." He stood from his seat and dropped a few credits for Nalah to pick up. He snatched up the gift it had taken ages for him to wrap without tearing it with his talons by accident. "Excuse me."

"Hey," She put a hand on his shoulder. "If it's any consolation, Lorraine—Or was it Rachel? Aria has her new address too; maybe you can pry it out of her?"

He nodded at her, the gift crushed between his talons as he walked his way back to HQ. If he had thought about it, he had no right to be angry. He knew what Shepard was like— independent, unyielding, incomprehensible. What secrets he told her were the least of the pile. He had been tempted to spill them but Alenko's face, his disappointed expression firmly planted there, kept coming to mind at the thought. Screw that then. Screw Shepard and her secrets too.

It was time to get back into the offensive against the damned mercs, anyway. Anything else was unnecessary.

Edited 06.05.2014


	21. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We now have beta! Elantil! Now, chapters will be of a better quality the first time around (not that I won't be doing my bi-monthly clean-ups). Expect a delay of two weeks as I work on the new arc. It's an in-between and an overlapping of ME2 called... I have no idea yet but I'll let you guys know when I know.
> 
> Many thanks to Elantil, you are the best.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well.

Chapter 18

Out of all the species other than humans, it was the krogan that Shepard had excelled at killing. It was no easy feat but Shepard had a salarian mentor, and it was common for salarians of Lor's caliber to know every weak point the krogans had. Lor had his share of run-ins with over eager krogans who had held him responsible for all the mistakes of his species. He had quickly developed ways to fight them, a lot of them, sometimes, even on his own. Especially on his own.

Despite that, it was also the krogan that Lor admired the most. They were prey in Tuchanka and yet outside of it, they became predators. It may have been wrong to test one's true mettle on a species that seemed so lost, but Lor believed that any creature that managed to survive on Tuchanka for longer than necessary was either one lucky bastard or one hell of a fighter or both.

Shepard was on a standard-sized ship for civilians; less than half the size of an Alliance frigate. Her cover was that she was hired muscle along with a few mercs for volus tradesmen. Right then, she was on the receiving end of more than several odd looks, either because they were fascinated by how she managed to move about silently while wearing swanky boots or because she was the only human in a sea of batarians and a handful of krogan.

Tired of all the blatant staring, she slung her things over her shoulder and made her way towards the cockpit. No one seemed to like the pilot much either. He was said to have too much attitude for a civilian pilot so far flung from the Citadel. Plus, he was human, so apparently that made things worse. He was good at it though, that much Shepard could tell from the way the ship cruised quietly despite its age and visible rust.

"Tired of the ass-leather smell of krogan hide?" He asked without turning back when she arrived with a soft knock. "It's going to be a long ride. Would appreciate it if your omni-tool had a spray function— I especially like lavender."

She walked up closer behind him, admiring the way his fingers glided over the buttons.  
"You're running this ship on your own?"

"No need for extra fuss when you've got the best flying this vessel. Plus," He swiveled around in his chair to face her. "It's half the size of an Alliance frigate, which would have been easily manageable by moi."

She kept her surprise at seeing him to a minimum. Of course he wouldn't recognize her. He was drunk when they were first introduced in Flux during the bash she threw for the Commander. Not to mention, she was barely there during the funeral. Still, the sight of the bearded face and ever present cap reminded Shepard of sunnier days. "I see. I guess what they say about you is true."

He narrowed his eyes at that. "What are they saying? If those volus out there are talking about my brittle bone disease, you can tell them that at least I can shoot a gun without flying off the floor – despite my whole arm shattering."

She grinned at him. "They said it was run by a hotshot, former Alliance pilot with a big mouth."

He looked up at her in surprise. "Damn, now that I look at you – you look pretty damn fine for a merc. Have we met?"

"Tell me that wasn't a pickup line."

He grinned back. "Only if you want it to be." He shook her hand at that. "But seriously, I have this sneaking suspicion that I should know you from somewhere."

"One sentence: Flux, about a year ago, and free drinks."

His grip on her hand tightened. "Well, shit. Rachel? The Rachel that gave Wrex round after round of freaking ryncol till we all thought he might actually die from alcohol poisoning despite his multiple livers?"

"It's good to see you well, Moreau." She took a respectful step back. "I thought you'd stay with the Alliance after— that."

His shining eyes dimmed for a moment before flaring in rage. "Alliance grounded me. Couldn't take much more of that so I left. Got in touch with Wrex, weirdly enough, because I can't say we got along – he said he needed someone to send people back and forth from Tuchanka to the Terminus systems."

"You're a krogan's chauffeur now?"

"Not _a_ krogan, _the_ krogan. Only been a year and some of the clans are moving faster to get an alliance with Urdnot than they were to start making babies." Moreau's eyes glazed over. "And even if this ship isn't my Normandy, it's still a ship. Piss poor defense systems, though. Just enough to get quickly in and out – and that's only if Tuchanka doesn't chew us up."

Shepard crossed her arms, looking up at the open expanse of stars laid before them. "ETA?"

"About a day, Galactic Standard – slow as hell, I know. This ship wouldn't have passed the regs to fly anywhere, but you know what they say: whatever comes from Tuchanka, never stays in Tuchanka." Shepard shook her head at him and his grin grew wider. "Best to get used to the krogan smell too, there'll be more of that where we're going." He laughed a little to himself. "It's nice to see a familiar face around – or not so familiar, considering that I remember your face being blurry and blue."

She laughed. "Likewise, Moreau."

* * *

Shepard spent the next day near or in the cockpit. Moreau cracked strange jokes about her coming onto him, but she could see the relief on his face when she was around. They traded jokes about every volus that walked past the cockpit. They were a couple hours away from reaching Tuchanka and Moreau (he insisted on the name 'Joker', which she had decided to use only when she was speaking to him) had put the ship on auto-pilot.

"So," Moreau began. "What brings the infamous Rachel all the way to Tuchanka?"

"Infamous? If I'm infamous then I didn't do my job right." She spun on one of the empty co-pilot seats. Not that she could help him fly the thing, but she did occasionally press a button to keep Moreau on his toes. ("Hey, hey, hey! Do you want to throw the krogan out the – Never mind, I know you do.")

"You know what I mean."

Shepard stopped her spinning and looked at him. "Joker, I think you know more than anyone why the galaxy should be preparing for a threat instead of sitting around with their thumbs up their asses."

He sighed through his nose. "So, you know about the Reapers?"

"And I believe it. I'm doing the prep."

"And the rest of it?"

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in the couple of hours they spent talking about porn stars in Fornax. "We'll have to see. But when it happens, Joker, you'll be the first to know."

That had been the end of her luck. When she left to set-up and make a last stop at the washroom, all hell broke loose.

"Brace, ship under fire!" Moreau's voice snapped through the comm channels before he hit the thrusters and dived. "Keep your volus asses from rolling around back there!"

The ship was hit by bullets the moment they breached past Tuchanka's atmo. Moreau, skilled as he was, couldn't evade all the gunfire and missiles before one connected hard. The volus tradesmen held on for dear lives as they landed – crashed—almost a click away from the supposed landing zone.

"Joker! Patch in Urdnot and let him know the coordinates of our location!"

"Already on it, ma'am." He said automatically before he caught himself, feeling embarrassed. "And something tells me that wasn't the first Alliance order you've spat out."

She grinned at him. "Something tells me that was the first time you've called anyone with some respect."

"Hey! There were a few! Captain Anderson was a hard ass."

She sobered into seriousness. "Are they pirates?"

"No. Should be a rival clan, but they're probably after the stuff. I guess they don't like Urdnot being hot shit in Tuchanka at the moment."

She grabbed her Hornet SMG and her Carnifex sidearm and strapped them onto her holsters. Strapping on her sword and heading to the main floor, she hissed at the over eager mercs by the hatch. "Do not open that hatch, batarian, unless you want your head blown off by the krogan on the other side."

The hatch was fairly narrow, good enough for only one or two to leave at a time. When it was pried open, the krogan outside clearly wanted them to know they were from clan Turvak. ("For the pride of Turvak!")

So when one came in, charging and ready to steal and plunder, Shepard's sword was out and ready. Lor had pointed out, time and time again, that a krogan had to be taken down fast. The quickest way was to remove his brain – it may have multiple hearts, livers and nervous systems, but he only had one head.

Her sword, upgraded with better tech that could slice its way through armor, embedded itself into his left eye. She twisted it as he screamed before she slid the blade out from his head. She stuck a bomb on him before kicking his body backwards and out the door. The orange of his blood spilled all over her face and hair – she wiped away a bit of it from her face and gloves before turning back to the volus passengers. Behind her, the bomb went off and the krogan roared outside.

"I suggest you move back, things will get messy from here." She drew her sidearm with her other hand as she heard the battle cry outside. "There's only one door for them to enter."

"Unless they make a new one." A volus breathed, moving himself and his cargo as far away from the door as possible.

"Unlikely, they'd want the cargo in here safe. Blowing up a hole to make another entrance would jeopardize that." Her heels clicked as she moved away from the door again. "Joker, have the Urdnot responded?"

The comm crackled and spat before he said, "Not yet."

She closed her eyes. "Listen people, I'm going to have to ask you to follow me if you want most of us to survive. I know you don't want to take shit from some human but I want to make it to Urdnot whole and alive." There were only four krogan and two batarian mercs in the ship. They were clearly not eager to work under her but they all moved closer towards her, eyes wary as they listened to her plan.

Military precision was Shepard's answer to krogan brute force. The moment one or two entered, she had the mercs aim their shotguns at their skulls. They had made a makeshift barrier as cover for the front of the door at a range where any shotgun would feel like a hammer to the quad. As soon as they fired, Shepard finished them off with either her sidearm or sword or pushed them out with a sticky bomb attached to him that killed or severely injured whoever was behind him.

When two Makos drove in, flanking the rest of clan Turvak along with their backup, Wrex's head scout was expecting to meet a massacre of volus and Joker's dead body.

Instead, he found Legacy – covered in krogan blood, being thanked and praised by a bunch of mercs and volus. And Joker, looking a little weary but very much alive, faced him and said, "About time you showed up."

* * *

She had tried to settle into Tuchanka, but it was proving to be difficult. Even if she was allowed to sleep in the Urdnot camp upon arrival from the downed ship, Wrex still refused to see her.

"He's busy." The krogan guard at the head of the line of krogans from other clans and the volus tradesmen, grunted.

She crossed her arms. "Sitting his ass down on a throne of rubble?" The krogan looked ready to pull out his shotgun, but her hand was already dangerously close to her sword. "Tell him I'm only here for business."

"He's busy, human. Can't you see the queue? Everyone wants the Battlemaster's time and they're all here on business."

She took note of the long line and then moved up to glance at Wrex who looked bored beyond compare every time he tuned in to listen to volus. Instead, he eyed the clan in the distance warily and Legacy followed his gaze.

They were composed of mostly women with one or two children. Wrex was keeping an extra eye on them and the guards he had stationed near them. No wonder he was so twitchy. He had guests that took precedence over anyone here – the future of the krogan.

Legacy, or rather, Rachel, since she had yet to change her name, cursed in an old tongue. She'd have to be patient. "I don't do lines. Tell him Rachel is here and to come and see me."

She knew she was in hell when the first night rolled in.

Moreau had offered the ship for her to stay in but she had declined. She needed to get used to Tuchanka as she planned to stay here long enough. Moreau had called her crazy, Rachel had to agree.

"Just head back here when you change your mind. I'm not sure what the hell Wrex's problem is. Probably being a krogan and testing you. He always used to give the Commander a hard time." Something somber came over the pilot's face but it was dismissed when she gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. She told herself that this gesture was necessary to shake away the memories – it wouldn't do to dwell on someone who was about to be resurrected, not that Moreau knew that.

"I don't doubt it." She slung her gear and her equipment over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Joker. You get some rest before you leave planetside. You've got a ship to re-patch."

"Aye, ma'am. Good night and don't let the klixen bite."

With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, she made her way to the border of the camp. Even the predators of Tuchanka seemed less fearsome than the krogan prey nearby. Wrex may have allowed her to stay but he had other clans staying over as well and they didn't like the sight of her.

She had done her research; the surrounding fauna comprised mostly of pyjaks and wild varren that may attack her from outside the border, but there was vegetation that she could touch and she could kill and roast the pyjaks. She had no intention of sleeping until the day cycle hit, if she would even sleep at all. Instead, she took a meditative position and sat in silence. There was no use wasting energy and even without the nuclear winter, it was freezing on Tuchanka. She readied a fire by activating a mod from her omni-tool and the wood that she had gathered from some of the odd purple trees nearby.

Now, she could think about how she hadn't told anyone in Archangel that she was leaving. Then again, it's not like they would have wanted to know that she had gone; not after what she did. It was a real shame too; she really could have used some of that Vakarian humor. If there was anything that she was going to miss, it was that.

Still, she sighed, what Sensat had insinuated – without even asking about the scars. Rachel reached for her hands, peeling off the gloves to look at the marred skin there. The flushed red skin meant her heart rate had sped up. Regardless of what they looked from the outside, few knew what they meant to her.

"Each hand represents a lesson," Shepard had told him. Looking into his grey eyes as he studied her, Azril – she thought of him every once in a while as her comrade and for a longer while, as her lover. He looked sad but understanding, just the way she remembered. "Do they disgust you?"

"What lessons?" He asked, taking her left hand. "Who taught them to you?"

"The left means–"

Krogan were not known for their subtlety. She wasn't entirely sure why they tried. She opened her eyes to the present, sidearm at hand as she aimed–

Only to find a boy, a krogan child, whose eyes were impossibly large and who probably weighed twice as much as she did. He was probably younger than twenty but was rather weak and puny for his age and species. He had a stick in his hand and he looked ready to knock her out with it, only he got caught before he could do it. He turned embarrassed and hid it behind his back instead of brandishing it over his head.

Shit. How did the clans not see one of their own escaping the camp? So much for the extra security they were laying out for their future.

"Boy," she called out and he stiffened. She tapped her omni-tool so that her translator would be put on speaker for both of them. She doubted he was old enough to have an omni-tool of his own or that the clan could even afford one at this time. "Get back into the camp. Your clan will miss you."

"Red-asari," the boy called her and she had every right to be insulted. How could he not know what humans were? "Why are you here? _Madra,_ mama, said that even volus-thieves get to sleep in the camp, so why not red-asari? Are you—dangerous?"

She nearly hissed at him, thinking of some way to scare him off so he could go back to the safety of his clan. However, his intention to stay was clear when he sat down, his plump krogan legs making the task a little difficult. His hide was a pale red shade and still looked soft. Rachel was wary; she extended her senses all around them for anything that might sneak up on them in the dark. She was all too aware that the boy was prey in his own home and she'd be damned if he died near her. She would be killed three times more brutally and twice as slowly by the krogan if they found out.

"Very dangerous, boy. But not as dangerous as the borders of this camp." She motioned her head towards the expanse of sand and darkness. "Hasn't your _Madra_ told you it isn't safe here? Get back inside."

As all children did, he didn't seem to hear her. "What is red-asari's name? I am Greior. I want to be part of Urdnot one day – like my father, my _Dragur_."

She looked up, summoning her patience. "I am nameless. And I am not an asari. I'm human. Didn't your _Madra_ teach you these things?"

He looked thoroughly confused. " _Madra_ only said our _Sodragur_ , our forefathers, hated the asari. For the way they used them and for that they've done to us. How they helped the salarians and the turians. She didn't talk about hu- huamans."

Rachel sighed. The League and the krogan now turned out to be equal parts belligerent.

Not bothering to reply to that, Rachel closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The dust had mostly settled and the cold night wind had ceased. Though, she would have to let the fire die slowly – keeping it up the entire night would invite nocturnal predators. She would be able to keep warm if she concentrated on that.

However, the young Greior sidled up closer to her instead of leaving for camp. She moved her weapons to the right side so it would be hard to him to reach for those without her noticing.

"Your _Madra_ will look for you," she said quietly causing him to jump at the sound of her voice. Her body was absolutely still and the night beyond them was daunting. "If she finds you here, she may kill me. Or try to."

He growled. "My _Madra_ is young but she is strong. Stronger than some red-asa– hu-man."

"Then do you want to get me killed, boy?"

"What I want is to be free. I want to be part of my _Dragur's_ clan. But _Madra_ won't let me because I—" He motioned at his small arms and legs, the soft portions of his hide that should have, by now, become rough and strong.

Legacy said nothing in reply, only looked at the fire – stared at it long and hard until Greior fell asleep beside her, innocent and unaware of the predators all around him.

When his mother came by, looking panicked and twitchy, she looked ready to attack Legacy, but all Legacy did was stare back. In turn, she merely fixed a glare at Legacy as she woke her child up and dragged him back to camp, her eyes never leaving Legacy as they left.

* * *

Things had changed in Archangel since Rachel—Shepard—Legacy left. Things had also changed in Omega.

The new Legacy was noticeably different in her MO and less fearsome as a result. There were rumors going around that the old one had died and Aria had found herself a quick replacement to fill the void. Where the old Legacy had been silently effective, this one was loud and noticeable. Garrus didn't like the way Shepard's professional reputation was being dragged through the mud and he approached Aria about it.

"It's on purpose." She replied easily. "We need to confuse people about her identity. I had told the new agent to be as different as possible: they'll likely think the old one's dead."

"You got rid of her pretty fast for someone who was mad about her going missing."

"So did you."

He almost flinched at that. Almost.

"Did our favorite human do something to piss you off? Say, did she hit someone precious to you? Kill someone you loved?" She laughed at his stunned face—a reaction he couldn't control. Her grin was so wide and her teeth, so white. "You fell for it, so easily. And she slipped right through your fingers like water."

His stance stiffened and he found himself having to put his hands behind his back to keep himself from climbing the steps and strangling Aria. He'd probably get a bullet through the brain and that's only if Aria didn't kill him with her biotics first. "What do you mean?"

"Archangel, you got right under her skin. Hit her right in her human heart, tiny as it is." She leaned forward. "But what do you really know about her? If there's anything I know about the girl, is that she'll cut off anything that keeps her from the mission. If your little cheering squad or yourself had given her purpose, had given her any reason to pause from that mission, she probably would have readily killed any of you. And if she knows you as well as I do, you'd be reluctant to let her go. Not unless you saw it with your own eyes: a reason to distrust her, to hate her."

He left Afterlife boiling with fury at the insinuation that Legacy—Rachel—Shepard had planned so extensively to leave. Would she? Could she? He reviewed everything he knew about her. The past that she had shared with him, the decisions she made while she was present. She was intelligent enough, devious enough. When it came down to it he knew she didn't need his friendship nor his loyalty.

His father's voice, one that had been absent for the longest time, came back—berating him for trusting so easily, for letting a shadow take form, allowing it to haunt him. He wanted to be honest with himself. He hadn't met anyone whom he had looked up to, whom he had laughed with since Alenko's death—not as much as he did with her. But that honest reflection was snuffed out by the snarl of his anger. Never mind what he knew, she had manipulated him instead of telling the truth. She had escaped him and he had fallen for it easily.

Unless Aria was wrong. She had seen only the worse in Rachel—Shepard. With that thought, Garrus made his way to the Gozu district to meet a certain doctor.

"Can't possibly deduce all of her reasons. She can be mean. Can be selfish. All people are." Mordin paced around his office before motioning for Garrus to take a seat. "Only more creative about it. Makes her interesting."

"But do you think she set it all up? Got close to Sensat and waited till I went down there?"

"Not beyond her capabilities." He blinked many times before he put his hands behind his back. "Aware she told you a bit about Lor?"

Garrus face plates twitched at the memory. That time... Had it been that long ago? "Yeah."

"Likes to downplay her abilities. Lor made an exception for her when he promised he would be the last of the League and changed the name to Legion. Reason being Rachel possessed extraordinary talent and capabilities. Huge potential with close quarters, subterfuge, tech, among others. The reason is here," The salarian tapped the side of his head. "Rachel possesses genius-level intellect, managed to learn all Lor had to offer in the same time as a salarian. Nothing left that Lor could teach her by the time he left."

"I always knew she was smart. What's new, doctor?"

Mordin shook his head. "She can predict the way you move before it happens. Aided by League know-how, of course. But it wouldn't work as well with humans—shouldn't work as well—but Rachel is not just smart.

"But when she doesn't see something coming—when she makes a mistake—disaster. Withdrawal from others. Warnings in dreams. Stress levels rise. System tells her to flee rather than fight."

Garrus stood up then. "Are you saying she's not good at predicting hugs? That just sounds—"

Mordin stiffened. "Is that what happened?"

Garrus would have found this whole situation either a big lie or just really funny, but Mordin looked shaken and disappointed and scared all at the same time. It was rare for the salarian to display any emotion but haughtiness and self-confidence. "That and my team's asari—Sensat—pointed out the scars on her hands—"

Mordin closed his eyes and began shaking his head. "Then there is no help for it."

"Sensat said that the scars looked self-inflicted."

"Rachel would _never_ hurt herself for _that_ purpose." Mordin's tone was enough to remove that insinuation from his mind even if the doubt kept crawling back before then. "No, those scars aren't self-inflicted. But they're worse. Much worse for humans." He sighed. "Can't tell you this. Have to hear it from her."

And then Shepard was back to being a big mystery again. Everything he knew about her seemed useless in trying to understand her—whoever she really was. What could he do?

He put the thoughts of her behind him. He needed to focus on the now. He called Sidonis and set themselves up to work. Together, Garrus and Sidonis explored the tunnels that Shepard mentioned. She had left a map guide in a datapad on her bed, one of the few traces she left behind.

Garrus had half a mind to toss it into the trash. Sidonis, not one to squander an advantage given to him, convinced him against it.

"To think something like this existed inside Omega." Sidonis said aloud, mostly to himself, Garrus assumed.

"Hmm." He looked about, then looked up at the opening indicated by the map.

"Damn shame she left before she could teach us more of this. I could probably figure them all out but it would take one hell of a long time."

"We could use some of these walkways." Garrus consulted his map when he heard his omni-tool ping. He opened up his mail. A message from Solana. He told himself not to feel disappointed. Then he berated himself for feeling disappointed.

_Come home. Now._

Garrus had received numerous messages from her and his father asking where he was and what he was doing. But something about this last one set him on edge.

Sidonis walked up closer to him. "Something wrong?"

"It's nothing." Garrus quickly closed his omni-tool. "Let's look around some more and head back."

Edited 06.09.2014


	22. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Elantil for being awesome. 
> 
> Expect updates every two weeks for a while though. No worries. I hope my track record says I can deliver. Also, do leave me reviews. Love those. It would be motivating to get your comments on what's happening.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you all well.
> 
> Warning: Explicit torture.

Chapter 19

It was on the fourth day that she saw Greior again. Only this time he hid behind one of the scouts. Legacy looked up slowly, one hand on her sword and the other on her pistol.

"The battlemaster wants to see you."

She said nothing in reply, only re-sheathed her weapons and followed sedately. Greior walked behind them at a distance, merely watched and saying nothing until she was in front of the familiar krogan.

"I heard one of the children visited you."

She looked beyond his throne and at the ceiling behind him, staring at the holes that let in the barest of sunlight. Behind her was no line. In fact, she noticed that there were barely any guards standing around. It turns out, much to Legacy's surprise, that Urdnot Wrex knew some semblance of discretion and knew when to apply it.

"Rachel." He grunted.

"Urdnot." She paused. "It's Tara Legacy now. Officially."

"You mean from right this moment?"

It wasn't entirely wise to keep the name that she was supposed to leave back in Omega, but providing the world with more confusion would hurt everyone, which was exactly her agenda. "Of course."

He grunted. "I suppose you understand how important a child is to us, Legacy."

Legacy finally looked directly at him. "I understand."

"If he was hurt under your watch—"

"You would have had me killed." She nodded, moving her hand to the sheathed sword strapped to her hip. "But, I have to tell you, Urdnot. I've got a lot to live for."

A moment's pause and Legacy saw the myriad of emotions crossing his face but the one that dominated them all made his face crinkle and a bark of a laugh escaped his throat.

"What is it that you want?" Wrex finally asked.

Legacy got to business immediately.

This was the deal: secure trade routes so his people could get the supplies they needed from off-planet and Urdnot would take into consideration that other than the genophage, the lack of solidarity, and the pyjaks, they would also consider the Reapers and Collectors as a threat to them and their own.

"I realize it's a tall order, but you have to at least be somewhat prepared for what's to come."

"I get you, Legacy." Wrex grunted as he sat in his throne of stone and rubble. "But this time my people have to come first. You saw for yourself, how important a single child is. If you plan to use us as fodder as we were during the Rachni wars—we just don't have the same numbers as we did then."

"There's no way I would think of the krogan as fodder. Front lines, last resorts, maybe. But never as just fodder."

"That's you. But the Admiral up front will still wish we'd have died with the resistance." He stood from his throne, a grin still on his face. "This is just proof that deep inside all that black you're actually a good person. The fact that you're doing any of this at all—hah, if you were a krogan you'd have followers in droves."

"Taking care of people is a difficult thing."

"You've managed to save the brittle human, Joker. I think you can take care of yourself as well as anyone." He paused. "And you watched over one of the more ambitious children."

"The boy is eager to prove himself."

"He'll have his time." Wrex grunted. "For now, he remains a child. He should allow his mother to dote on him. In a few years, she'll be alone again. Who knows if she can give birth to a second clutch. Who knows if a single child survives this time."

"He'll eventually have to learn how to take care of himself."

"Hah, he could learn a little from you then."

"That I know how to take care of myself?" Legacy rolled her eyes. "Tell that to the asari I know."

"Tsk, asari and their mind reading. The only one I ever liked was T'soni and that took a while." He stood up from his throne and approached her. "They look at you and see vulnerability?"

"They think I need help. Counseling."

"Counseling? The krogan people need that more than you!" He pointed at her, jovially jabbing her in the shoulder. She kept her face carefully blank through the pain. Damn if it didn't feel more like a punch. "No, Legacy, you're not weak. You just have weaknesses. And those," This time. he punched her on the shoulder. Lightly. If that was even possible. "Make you accessible to people."

"Part of my charm? You dabbling in politics is a little scary." She grinned at him. "Unless—Wrex, don't tell me you're coming onto me?"

"Hmph, I don't sleep with soft, squishy things that remind me of pyjaks, Legacy." He shook his head. "A warrior who thinks himself invulnerable is a dead soldier. You. You know what you can and can't do. I see you eat, rest, meditate—I can't sit that long and not think something is about to kill me."

She smiled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Urdnot."

"There's nothing wrong with living through some regrets. The worry of other people is more troublesome." He grumbled, hands opening and closing. "And I also hate talking about stupid squishy, pyjak feelings—you better be glad that you bought me all that ryncol otherwise I would have clobbered you off Tuchanka."

"Oh. There is something else I need to ask from you." Shepard put her hands behind her back. He rolled his shoulders before he sat back down, motioning with his hand for her to continue. "I need you to help me train against biotics."

Wrex's laugh echoed throughout the camp.

* * *

Things in Tuchanka were nothing like Shepard had expected.

Daily living was strenuous to the body what with the dry weather and constant dust and jagged terrain. Worse than the dry weather were the sandstorms and thunderstorms, and for that matter, just about anything but the nuclear winter that the salarians had gotten rid of for them.

The lack of water was one thing, but the lack of cleanliness, now _that_ she had to get used to. There was tech that Tuchanka hadn't installed and they had a sewage system that clogged up easily. They had a simple process for it ("Don't hold it with your bare hands and don't throw it onto the walls—it attracts klixen.") but it was primitive at best.

Meanwhile, food was constantly being stolen by pyjaks. Though for that problem, she had devised nets that quickly caught them up in bunches. One pyjak she had hung up, dead, near the area they frequented was a grisly example. That had worked to attract wild varren that kept coming by to try to take it which in turn kept the damn pyjaks away. The influx of wild varren also got the krogan hunting, especially the scouts, who were grateful for the game that they could eat while out of camp.

For a week Greior's presence was a constant until he left with his mother's clan, and until the very end his mother looked at her and watched her, but said nothing.

Otherwise, the krogan let her be. They watched her train sometimes, which was the nice way of putting getting biotically beaten up by Wrex. Most hid their disgusted faces at her presence when Wrex came by to ask how she was doing or to begin training. Others were grudgingly grateful for her part in securing them cargo and supplies, and for doing half of the work of making sure the pyjaks think twice before coming back.

Initially, Wrex had enjoyed the fun they had in their training regime, but a month later and Shepard had gotten better at evading a well-aimed Warp or a Stasis-headbutt combo that made her head spin. Her favorite gloves had been torn up to shreds from the number of times she'd skidded across the rocks or flipped backwards using her hands. By the second month, she could see his attacks, predict them by looking at the movement of muscles from shoulder to fingers.

She had never told Garr— Vakarian, that her ability to dodge was due to her ability to predict. And her ability to predict was owed to a lot of hard work— straining eyes, muscles, the memory of her body and the body of her opponent.

Lor, the Legion, had stressed that biology was important not only because it taught her all the vulnerable places on a body but also that it taught her the rippling motions of a set of muscles right before a strike.

There was an economy of movement made when a man reaches for his gun—the coiling of the muscles of his arm and the twist of his wrist. All these movements varied depending on the species and on the build. What Shepard was doing now was getting used to the movements of a biotic, a type of opponent she admitted to having rarely encountered up close in her jobs (at least, not as a foe—save for Nyreen and Liselle and that involved just a lot of running) and trying to adapt the principles to humans or asaris that she might encounter in the future.

Being able to predict the opponent's next move, as Lor had said, was what made up 80% of a fighter's ability to evade it.

She didn't want a repeat of what happened with Sensat. To be caught so off guard that she had been trapped in the asari's embrace; the suffocation and helplessness that she felt. She wouldn't have felt so invaded had the closeness been invited. She didn't feel that way when Liara had drawn close to her or when Nyreen had pulled her near. She had felt sick, judged, in that hold. It would not, could not, happen again.

The next step of training was what Wrex had been hesitant to do.

"Legacy, I like bringing pain to my enemies as much as the next person. And our rounds of mutual violence has been fun for me and the men," He motioned at the krogan who watched them. She guessed that they were eager to learn by observing their Battlemaster fighting an agile outsider. "But what you're proposing is—"

"It's a part of how I learn." She cut him off. "We can move someplace else if you don't want your men to see."

Pain flashed across Wrex's face briefly, a rare thing, one that his men did not miss as they began to whisper to one another. "This will be more painful for you than it is for me." He paused. "I want my men to learn that there is a difference between violence and cruelty."

"Don't worry, I won't ask you to do this again."

"You better not. You have too much quad than what's good for you, Legacy."

She smiled for a moment before making her face neutral and closing her eyes. She stood stock still, braced in a fighting stance to signal she was ready for him.

Waiting for him to begin, she recited the creed in her mind as he summoned his biotics and used Throw. She let out a gasp, expelling the energy she used to remain in place and kept her feet planted firm and her knees bent.

"Pain is an important learning tool. It teaches us what is dangerous. Signals to us how much we can take before we crumble. Every time we are hurt, our threshold for pain should increase, but our ability to feel pain shouldn't be lost."

Lor had taught her true pain. He had explained to her, over and over, that it was not something that he had wanted to do, that it was not something to revel in.

When she was 15, pain, was the last of the lessons Lor had taught her. A lesson that lasted for days, months, years— almost unending, always repeating.

When she was 15, it was the first time she heard Lor cry as he held the blades and pierced them through her hands.

"The right means pain."

He recited every time as the dagger pierced through flesh, precisely where it would heal in time, leaving no lasting damage. The blade found its sheath in her hands, as he twisted them till she writhed and her eyes rolled, her mouth open as she screamed.

The places he pierced would eventually be the scars she used as reminders, but back then, before she learnt that valuable lesson; where flesh broke and bled, she cried and begged for it to end.

"You will know this pain. You will also know that anyone who comes close to you will be capable of it. That you are equally capable of inflicting this pain to yourself and to others."

"This is the pain of trust and of betrayal. The pain of battle. Of the mistakes you make. Learn this pain. Every person you let near is capable of inflicting it."

She remembered their proximity— the sound of his beating heart and her own. She remembered their breaths, the slow blinking of his eyes as he fought to stay focused. She remembered the fire she felt in her hands as the blades remained, twisted, and turned. "Learn from pain. Learn that we of the Legion, grant quick deaths because we know pain."

This was the way to learn: conviction, repetition.

As was the way to learn from pain; the same she applied to every new lesson.

Conviction, repetition.

She wore the gloves for Lor because every time she caught him looking at her hands, at the scars there, he looked like he would cry. She knew that they would remain even if she tried to remove them. She knew this lesson well; she didn't need to relive the lessons in her dreams. But there were days—like with Harga, like with Sensat—the way they held—

"If the right means pain then what does the left mean?" Azril had asked.

Shepard's lips parted to say—

What _did_ the left mean?

Legacy counted 18 full-powered Throws from the Battlemaster, no less, before she knew the next ones would be beyond her endurance and that she wouldn't be able to hold back. By the 20th, she turned her screams into roars as the biotics split skin and muscle. The krogans around the ring flinched back at the sound of it. Wrex took a beat of rest before the look in her green eyes told him that they were not finished, and he roared back with another Throw.

By the 23rd, her roars were raw and breathless. Her knees had buckled and the armor of her arms and chest were worn and crumpled. Every blow in those exposed spots pushed her organs back with such physical force that blood trailed out of her mouth and nose. The once jeering crowd was now hushed to unsettled silence as they watched their leader continue his relentless assault without batting a single eyelash, without pause, and without mercy.

Conviction, repetition.

On the 25th, hacking blood, she knew every organ and bone in her body had probably taken more damage than what was considered possible. Now, however, she would know this pain. What biotics could do to her if she wasn't careful. She learned that she would evade every time she could, because getting hit would mean the end.

Now, her eyes were open but she was neither awake nor asleep as she sat there, her legs having given way awhile back, and waited for the next blow to come.

Conviction, repetition.

What _did_ the left mean?

Conviction, repetition.

Wrex stopped then, he looked at Legacy's form – bloody but undefeated. He sighed at the crowd that had come to watch. Even though krogan were used to violence, they could never really look into the eyes of one who had clearly lost but still remained defiant.

"Get her a doctor." He muttered, and his people scrambled to get one. "And get the pyjack Joker on the comm, ASAP!"

Edited 06.09.2014


	23. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And things change.
> 
> You guys have become oddly silent. There are so many of you. Review/comment, please! It's really sad how the ratio of reader to review is so low :( Think about it, I'm living off your love. Show me some of it. Many hearts to reviewers though, and Elantil for beta-ing.
> 
> Updates will come within two weeks, this will be a sure thing now. I've become very busy. But, just don't expect it to be over that- if it does go over then something went very wrong and maybe you should be worried. If I can post it earlier (say, within a week) then it will be early- just don't expect it.
> 
> Nonetheless, hope this chapter finds you well.

Chapter 20

For the next month, Legacy stuck to healing and meditation. She took to learning more about Tuchanka and the Krogan beyond just the boundaries of her job and Wrex was all too happy to grant her admission. After the event, the Urdnot clan was split between being in awe of her or feeling threatened by her. No one really spoke to her still, but she could at least rest easy from the thought that she might be killed in the middle of night for sport.

What surprised her, most of all, was what she was learning from the people and their culture. She especially enjoyed the nightly gatherings around the large fire, where the Shaman would share a story about their ancestors. Everything was ordered chronologically so that each night would be dedicated to the exploits of a specific shaman, Warlord or a Battlemaster or even just an allegory of Maws and Varren. She loved the poetry and the descriptions of the old krogan with their City of Stone— ruins of the ones before. Lor would have enjoyed it too; he had enjoyed literature and had bought a few human hardbound copies (hard to come by and expensive) for himself when he was on Earth ("Just as good as spending on a blade.").

At first she had taken to listening from afar, away from the fire. But when the scouts noticed that she would be there come evening, they had—shyly or brashly, depending on how you look at it— invited her to sit at the circle. She had balked at first, not really wanting to invade, but Wrex had cut in and said that if his scouts said they had room for her then she should sit.

She marveled at how close the krogan culture was to the League of One that Lor had told her about. They held their Fathers, their _Abrul_ or in krogan _Dragur_ , in the highest esteem—even if finding men in salarian society was like finding grass in a garden. And the league respected the _Abrue_ , their Elder Brothers, to lead the charge. She wondered if Lor too had admired the krogan for being so similar to the League, and if he had envied them their bonds when he himself had lost all his Fathers and Brothers to the Union and to the Spectres who followed them.

"Tonight is a special night. Tonight, we gather stories to add to our Battlesong, before the other clans arrive tomorrow."

Shepard looked to her side at a krogan scout, Urdnot Frud, and tilted her head. She had liked the man enough, and he was probably the closest to gentle that she could describe a krogan ever being (this was before she saw him crush rocks with his head, so even he was barely an exception now). "Battle Song?"

"Battlesong, Tara. A chance for us grunts to shine. We narrate something tremendous we did in war or battle and the Battlemaster and shaman decide what gets to be kept in the archives. Comes by only once a year. Some years though, nothing gets added."

"Have you had a story added to the Battle Song?"

"Hah, in a clan where _the_ Urdnot Wrex is? He could write his own anthem with his achievements alone. Since he's become head, nothing has impressed him so far—so now the men just talk about petting Varren and mocking him. Of course, when the shaman tells us to keep our yaps shut, we obey." He nodded to himself and motioned at one of the Vanguards who stood in the middle, narrating a tale. "Few clans barely keep this part of the Gathering tradition. I only know that clan Weyrloc do, but then again, their shaman's father was born in Urdnot."

She nodded and turned back to the Vanguard who had finished his tale. The clan let out a series of roars accompanied by the steady beats from drums covered with the hides of dead Thresher Maws before the next one stood and said his story.

About five more krogan stood up before no one else did, there was a hush and a series of drum beats before Urdnot Wrex raised his hand to call for everyone's attention. "We've heard a lot of damn fine stories. Many of them make me proud. Urdnot isn't the best for no reason!" There was a long roar, pulsated by the thudding of their feet as they stomped in unison. "But there is a story I want to hear before we decide on what gets added to the Battle Song tonight."

"Legacy, I think you owe Urdnot a story or two."

"Me? But I'm not—"

"You're more krogan than Jurad over there." Wrex pointed at a krogan on the far end of the circle. "And he eats raw varren."

"I'll take that fact with pride," the krogan with the dark violet and scarlet coloring, grunted. "But no one takes over 20 throws from a Battlemaster and lives unless he's got multiple organs."

"Yeah, so get your ass off your seat, Legacy, and tell us a story already." He signaled the scouts to haul her from her seat and two of them pulled her up and unceremoniously threw her to the middle. Luckily, she landed gracefully despite the near tumble which would have triggered a chain reaction from sustained injuries. A hundred pairs of eyes looked at her eagerly, the burning fire behind her reflected in their gaze.

"Fuck, Wrex, I don't have the eloquence for this. Or for a story."

"Varren shit, you've got more eloquence than some barefaced turian and that's saying something." The krogan roared in agreement. "And this pyjak shit about you not having a story? Don't insult me. You're nothing but bones and scars. And each and every one of them has a story. Now tell us one or I'll sic the varren on you."

She sighed. There was very little she could tell them, with the secrets that she had to keep, that would impress Wrex—who, judging by the way he was fidgeting in his seat, was indeed waiting to be impressed. If she did fail, he would be embarrassed in front of his clan for sure. But there was one tale she could tell without giving much away— if only to Wrex, who would be the only one to get the significance of the place.

"It was at Akuze, in the middle of a sandstorm. A team of ten marched boldly through it." She wasn't unfamiliar with narrative. Lor had loved them and she had memorized a few on her own to impress him. Though he shook his head and indulged in her stumbles and mispronunciations, his eyes had shone bright as he stared at her form.

Of course the Urdnot were familiar with thresher maws. It had been said that Tuchanka had been their place of origin and the mother of all maws resided here (or so said the shaman, nights ago). Urdnot's rite of passage included surviving an attack from a thresher maw. And Wrex had been the only one in a long time to kill one.

"I alone was left standing, my team, my brothers, had fallen. Their blood on my face and hands. I didn't want to die, it was a selfish thought but I knew it to be true. I took what they had left me— clips, guns, bombs. I took them and I ran. The second maw, who was barely injured, gave chase. I used all I had. All the knowhow, all the skills taught to me by my own— my own father who trained me to be what I am.

"As you krogan say, _'There is no counsel better than the shaman's and no lesson greater than a father's._ ' I took down the maw, single handedly. Used its own motherland against it. We tore down hills and valleys and old stone walls in a single night together. I set the traps my father had taught me to do. I still have the scar from the acid that melted through my shields," She motioned her hand at a point above her right shoulder. "By dawn, in Akuze, it had died by one of the last 10 bullets I had left in my sniper rifle, loaded with modded bullets that would burst into flames on impact. I hit it in the eye, and it burned, burned as it fell and I stood alive; bleeding heavily but alive. The shuttle came two hours later when I could have been dead."

The deadly silence that greeted her at first made her worry that she may have gone too far and made it unbelievable when she had only been telling the truth, but then she caught Wrex's eye. In them, she saw a fire that burned hotter and brighter than the one behind her.

The victory roar that resounded in clan Urdnot could be heard from the Makos that were making their way to the clan to gather before dawn. And though it was faint amongst a clan of krogan, Shepard's voice was added to that roar.

* * *

"You haven't been yourself. Not since—"

The look Garrus gave Melanis was so sharp that she instantly snapped her mandibles shut. "Don't say it."

He hadn't been thinking about Legacy—Shepard—at all actually, not really. He had been thinking about his mother and how Solana had sent him that one liner and no more. It was unusual for her not to nag and that proved just how severe things might be there now.

Every day he had to remind himself of Commander Alenko. And every day, he hit Omega harder and harder. He remembered his time in C-Sec, remembered the red tape that he had been tied in, bound by. He couldn't leave it behind, it would be like abandoning Alenko all over again. He had to bring Omega to justice, purge it.

It was becoming difficult to hold on, however. If he could measure how much the Commander's guidance meant to him and how much his own family, his own mother, meant to him as well. He had yet to really examine where the scale tilted but the wrenching feeling in his gut was not a good sign but it still didn't it provide a moment's clarity.

He was in the dorm while the others were downstairs. Sidonis had gone out to scout. Garrus had been chatting with Tali when Wrex had sent an uncharacteristic message, sounding strangely smug about something because all the message said was: "I know something you don't." Garrus replied with something rude and ignored whatever the krogan had to say afterwards.

It would be nearly two years since Alenko had died. He was planning something big since his last attempt at Blue Sun's boss. That had been damn close but the mercs had luck in getting away. Still, he had been persistently nailing them - disrupting shipments, destroying equipment. If this went on, they'd lose not only credibility in Omega but in the entire galaxy as mercs. They had lost a lot of money already.

Then Melanis decided to walk in and sit across him.

"Sensat hasn't been the same either. She won't tell me what happened."

"Because it's a private thing. Melanis. Did you ever stop to think that it might be none of your business?" He didn't glance up from his omni-tool until the last word.

Melanis didn't flinch. "Then why were you there?"

"That," he paused. "Is also none of your business." He sighed through his nose. "Look, it's been a long time since then. We don't have to think about it. It's done."

"You? Not think about the past? Hah, varren shit." He glared at her but she continued. "So, if it isn't Lega— her. Then what? Your family? Are they okay?"

"They're fine." He lied. "Mel, this isn't the time—"

Another message pinged in.

He checked it with a flurry of fingers, his senses tingling with renewed worry when he saw that it was from his sister again, this time more elaborate and more eloquently typed.

_It's not just mom anymore. Dad needs you here too. Come home. Now._

* * *

She knew it had officially begun when Kandros gave Legacy a call. She was only a month into healing from the sustained injuries, of which, some were still rather bad— bad enough that she would have to lay off the acrobatics for a while. Her right arm was still in a sling but Kandros didn't need to know that and she kept only her face visible.

When Barns had called her with a 68.4% accurate calculation of their slaver's route, Kandros had gotten back to her with dossiers. There were some old names there and some new ones. One of them, Legacy rose her eyebrows at.

"Amadeus? Really?"

Kandros eyes shifted from the vidcomm. "The two of you get along."

"But the both of you don't." Legacy leaned back against the crumbling wall of her room.

"I want to take the doctor with us too."

"No," Legacy shook her head. "He has his own reasons to be in Omega. We can't move him from there. The three of us make a sufficient team. We will decide on more members during our initial investigation."

Kandros looked reluctant but she nodded anyway. "Where are we going?"

Shepard took a breath before replying, "The beginning of the end: Alchera."

Edited 06.09.2014


	24. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers, a little late but we've been busy. I'm hoping to post the next chapter early but that also depends on feedback (in other words, review please).
> 
> Thanks to Elantil for being awesome and thanks to all those who reviewed.
> 
> References to ME2 dialogue. Some verbatim, others rewritten to fit the circumstances.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well.

Chapter 21

Legacy sat with her back hunched over. She leant her elbows against her thighs. Her fingers twirled a bit of the tech that had chipped off the geth platform they brought back with them.

How much time had passed since she left Tuchanka? Only a week and already she felt like it had been years. She missed the people, the rancid smell of krogan hide, her concrete bed.

Kandros walked over to her side from the medbay and sat down.

Legacy said nothing, only leaned her back against the wall. She could imagine the ship's circuitry as she looked up at the white lights— she imagined the way the wires swivelled and ducked, making the _Temperament_ the ship she was. She was a black market special that Legacy had eyes on ever since she left Omega. Kandros had put bids up in Legacy's stead. It wasn't as large as the Normandy, not by a longshot, but it had a drive core that reverberated throughout the ship and speeds that turned walking into leaping. The drive core— Titus, it was informally called- also had some special settings that were similar to the Normandy. There had been some rumor that its' design had been copied off the ship but the point was that the _Temperamen_ t was a ship not everyone could afford and not everyone could fly.

"Glad I forced my way into this job, ma'am." Joker said as he tried out all the new buttons as he sat on the cushy leather pilot seat earlier that week. "She isn't my old girl, but she's a damn fine ride all the same."

"Huh, says the pilot who was all but kicking and screaming even before we hit Alchera atmo."

"Hey, as long as I'm onboard the right ship, I'm easily persuaded. Besides, kicking breaks too many bones."

That was then though, and this was now. Her fingers tingled as she stroked the black chip. "Progress, Kandros?"

"Fine. Amadeus is working on it." Kandros leaned back against the wall, subharmonics hinting at weariness. "You would have been the better assistant had you told us about your sustained injuries. We could have delayed this mission till you were fully healed."

"No time," Legacy crossed her legs.

"You could have died during that ambush." Kandros stood up and paced in front of her, the ship hummed a dull after-echo. "Geth crawling left and right—they only wanted that one unit. They could have had him and we could have just slipped on by—why the hell did you save it?"

Legacy looked at Kandros then at the black chip from the Geth platform's suit who, right at that moment, Amadeus was busting his brain trying to repair. Her help would have made his task simpler but even the subtle movement of her fingers roving over something so dainty and minute was already shooting pain up her arm. Moreover, the leg she used to favor now ached at even the subtlest shifts of her sitting position.

When they were down there she had felt the cold of Alchera seep through her armor and freeze her blood. That was enough forewarning to let them know that they might not find much down there except battle and the carcass of the Normandy.

"He didn't seem like the rest of them. Running away from his own kind. Since when does a mass-conscious AI fight itself?"

"Doesn't matter. It's geth. You weren't fit for firefights today. If Amadeus and I weren't fast enough—"

"Kandros, since when did you not care for the lives of every individual—"

"I care the most for the life of my friend." Kandros stopped her pacing, towering over Legacy with her teeth bared and her tone low. "And I don't want to run any mission that shows me that she's pushing herself too hard, that she's burning out too fast." The female turian's hand glowed blue and then flickered out. "You aren't fit for this. Not yet."

In the back of her mind Legacy was angry, angry enough to start a fight. Instead she ground her heels against her rage and inhaled deeply. "I don't have any commanding officers. Least of all you, Kandros."

As the turian was about to argue back, the doors of the medbay slid open and a drell with onyx and blue skin came out with a sigh. Legacy stood up as he motioned with his hand for them to follow him through to the medbay.

"Something the matter, Mad?"

The drell looked back at Legacy, the left side of his lips curled into a strange half-smile. It was one that she grew up seeing. They had started their careers at roughly the same time, had beaten each other to their targets, had partnered up in what was a month of assassin-hell with the number of weeds they've had to pull out together. Before Legacy was ever Legacy, just a brat of about 17 and filled with the purpose of finding the father she lost: Amadeus had been a friend, an enemy, and an occasional lover.

That never stopped Kandros for seeing him at his darkest— killer, terrorist, escape artist. He was at some point a target for the Cabal when there was a series of supposed random bombings all over Palaven. They had never caught him and neither did they find evidence that proved it was him.

Only the three of them knew for sure that it was him, and Kandros was never one to forgive the wicked.

"Not exactly," He motioned at the Geth. "He's all patched up. Except, I barely did shit."

"Don't tell me—" Legacy noted Kandros drawing her sidearm, even as her own fingers twitched to grab the sword strapped to her hips.

Where the geth had been torn by bullets was now the old armor the Commander had left behind. It had been welded on by the geth himself. As he stood, Legacy triggered the shields to keep it in place.

Its single blue light turned to her.

She asked, "Can you understand me?"

"Yes," The geth replied.

"Are you going to attack me?"

"No."

"I know your kind, heard of what you're capable of. I may have spared you but I haven't decided whether I trust you."

"Incorrect. You have not heard of us. We have heard of you."

That got Kandros to activate her biotics, and even Amadeus beside her had his hand dangerously close to his sidearm. "How?"

"Files salvaged from Normandy and the Old Machines. Objects left behind by Alenko Commander. You are... an anomaly. You are not where you are supposed to be, not who you are supposed to be. The Old Machines know this. They know you. But we have found you first."

"Old Machines? Do you mean the Reapers?" Kandros asked.

"Reapers. A superstitious title originating with the Protheans. We call those entities the Old Machines."

"And as far as I know the Geth work for the Reapers." Legacy added.

"Negative. We oppose the Old Machines. It is the heretics who have chosen them to build their future. Alenko Commander opposes these Old Machines. You are his ally. A collaboration would be mutually beneficial."

"Give me a reason to trust you. Answer my questions. Truthfully."

"Reaching a consensus." The geth replied and a moment passed before it began to speak again. "Consensus reached. If it is within our capacity, we will answer your inquiries."

"Good. What did you mean by they know me?" Legacy walked to the side of the shield, the geth's light followed her.

"Collector involvement with the Old Machines was thwarted by you since Alenko Commander's death. Progress slowed down by 36%. Former Shepard Major, former Alliance Officer, head of the Dominion—you are an anomaly. The Old Machines have not predicted your involvement."

"Progress of what? Do you know what the Reapers are trying to do?"

A moment. An annoying buzz. "Insufficient data."

"Are the two involved for certain?"

"Data estimates an 85.87% chance of involvement."

It wasn't too far from her estimation, she nodded. "Do you know why the Collectors are working for the Reapers?"

Another long buzz. "Insufficient data."

Legacy put her hands behind her back. "What were you doing down there at Alchera?"

"Originally, it was to study Alenko Commander. But new data has flooded this platform. Former Shepard Major, you have caught the eye of the Old Machines—we wish to understand why."

"Don't tell me you've predicted this." Amadeus turned large black eyes to her. His subtones amused and disbelieving all at once. "That your mind could conjure up a plot of this magnitude—"

"I don't treat this like a game, Mad." Legacy answered quickly before Kandros could blow up in his face. "How can my involvement turn the Reapers to me? It was Alenko who beat Sovereign, who discovered the Reapers were coming."

A moment before another buzz. "Insufficient data."

"But they are after me?"

"Yes."

"How close are they to finding me?"

"Until today we were not aware you truly existed. Files outdated, tampered. The Old Machines will find it difficult to pinpoint your coordinates."

"They won't find me. Not unless I want them to." She turned to Kandros and Amadeus and nodded towards the door. They gave her the same measured looks before they headed out, leaving Legacy behind them.

She turned back to look at the platform. "If we're going to work together, I will need to know your name."

"Geth."

"That'll be a bit confusing. I need to differentiate you from the others."

"We are all geth." He opened his arms. "There are currently 1,183 programs active in this platform."

Legacy turned back fully, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. She had remembered Lor approaching her in the same fashion, hands behind his back. Eyes larger and black. "Only?"

The geth's light flickered again, as if to fathom what she could possibly mean. But he said nothing.

She smiled at him. "My name is Legion, for we are many."

"Christian bible. The gospel of Mark. Chapter five, verse nine. We acknowledge this verse as an appropriate metaphor."

She nodded before removing the shield around him and leaving the medbay.

"So, game plan?"

Legacy entered the boardroom. Amadeus leaned back against his chair while Kandros crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

"Nothing has changed. Just that we have found some proof, albeit something technical to transcribe into our databases for when the time comes. We'll ask Legion more questions and then we move on to the next phase."

"Legion. Hah." The drell smiled. "Can't say I'm surprised, Allie."

Alice, but he liked to call her Allie. That was the name she went by when they met. Legacy had never managed to convince him to drop it. She supposed it was because he wanted to be privy to a time where no one else but him knew she existed. "Now, we'll need to split up. One team goes to Palaven and the other to Thessia."

"Asari?" Kandros pushed off the wall and approached the table.

"Convincing the most influential race in the galaxy will persuade the others to follow. But we need the turian's military might as early as possible. Can't fight a war without warriors."

"Legacy, I always wondered about all this." Kandros crossed her arms. "How sure are you that it will lead to war?"

"The Prothean ruins showed me visions of burning civilizations. Masses of homeworlds, gone. Believe me, Kandros. We need fleets." She activated her omni-tool. "But first, we need to find the slavers. The ones sending the Collectors non-human samples. Barns discovered that there is an asari slaver as well, with an MO that makes use of Omega as a bridge. Kandros," She turned to her friend. "I want you on that."

"And you'll go to Palaven alone?"

"And what am I? Varren shit?" Amadeus crossed his arms. "Face it, Kandros. You'd be better off in Omega than any of us. I'll be Allie's support while you help us make the war more convincing to the asari. Meantime, we can handle the more devious plans in your homeworld." His lips curled up again into the half-smile. "Don't worry. No explosions."

Legacy marvelled at Nyreen's control to not kill the drell, though the click of her mandibles was enough warning for him to back off with his hands held up. Legacy spoke before they could start arguing. "I'll send you a friend. Do you remember Saragael? She'll provide support."

"So, you've finally decided that Dominion should mobilize?" If Legacy was reading the shifting of her face plates right, she'd say it was somewhere between amusement and relief. Amadeus, on the other, crossed his arms over his chest with his lips cast into a frown.

"Not all of them at once. I'll send each one a task."

"Saragael. Sounds like a prissy name. What could she do?" Amadeus smirked.

"Other than being a deadly assassin-engineer? She married a matriarch's granddaughter. Has some sway in Ilium too. And I'm talking kingpin, not petty info broker."

Kandros' eyes widened. "Sweet Saragael? Legacy, we need to talk about the awful influence you have over your friends."

Legacy smiled. "Don't I know it."

Edited 06.11.2014


	25. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost missed this update because I thought only one week had past (craziness).
> 
> Thank you for the reviews (I always reply to those who review and are signed in). So dark lover, many many thanks for taking the time to drop a word in and give your compliments. Also welcome to those who have joined in that have followed/favorite-d/kudos-ed. And to Elantil: more power to you.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you all well.

Chapter 22

It was a struggle to reach the decision to return to Cipritine but when he did, he had expected the repercussions to be severe. He willed his instincts to be wrong, just this once.

First, it was his team on Omega. When he broke the news, there was a collective mixture of saddened yet understanding looks. He expected at least that much even after he said he wouldn't be gone for long.

"You're going to miss me becoming a father at this rate." Butler hinted, loudly, as Garrus packed what he needed.

Another equally upset Erash, if not more so since he had left his room and he barely ever did, stood by the doorway, all four of his eyes narrowed. The only other time he had emerged from his room was when Legacy had walked out on them—

That was not something Garrus wanted to remember. Not now.

Erash watched silently, keeping an eye out for things that he thought Garrus might miss. He stared at them purposefully, as if willing them to vanish and thus hinder Garrus' travel back to Palaven.

"Butler, Nalah isn't due for a month. I'll be back before then. Probably."

"That's what they all say. But once you're in sunny Cipritine, why would you come back to smelly, overpopulated Omega?"

Garrus clicked the lock of his sniper case shut. "You know why."

Butler sighed, scratching the back of his head. "Daily updates, boss. That's all Nalah asks."

"Fair enough."

Sidonis strode in then, his stance upright and chest puffed out. His face revealed nothing to Garrus, but the tone he could hardly fake. "I've sent you a few files through your secure channel, as you requested."

He nodded. "Thanks. Take care of the team for me."

"Would prefer you send an update every few hours. Otherwise, the bare— Melanis would never shut up."

Garrus chuckled lightly; half out of amusement, half out of relief that Sidonis was trying to be a little more pleasant towards Mel. "I get you. But I just agreed to daily updates. It will have to do. I'll clock in at the same hour every day, twenty-hundred, Galactic Standard. If you hear nothing from me a few hours passed that time, then maybe you should start worrying."

"Are you kidding me, boss? Melanis would hijack a frigate for you. And you'd know we'd all help." Butler laughed, hands reenacting old school guns that Garrus had seen in an earth vid once. "Guns blazing."

"Try not to get into too much trouble with Aria by taking her ships. We're on her bad side as it is."

"But Crappy Legacy is so crappy." Butler grumbled, flopping down on one of the couches with a huge sigh. Garrus tried to tame a small growl. The new Legacy was just so starkly different—she had lacked synergy with the rest of Archangel that one time they asked for her assistance in the field. Not to mention, her Intel just wasn't as thorough. There were times when Garrus wanted her to be their next target, just so she would go away. "She makes it so easy to one up her. I mean, if Real Legacy were around—"

"That is not something we bring up in polite conversation anymore, Butler." Mierin walked in with a frown. She stood in front of Garrus, her stance ramrod straight. "Just here to relay a message, boss."

Garrus halted his packing, tilting his head to the side. "From whom, Mei?"

"Melanis said, quote, 'Don't you dare go, you prick. You're making Grundan bawl.' End quote." She shrugged. "For a turian she knows a lot of human insults, boss."

"Oooh, someone is undermining rank." Butler said unhelpfully. Sidonis shook his head at him. "What say you, boss? To the gallows, she goes?"

Garrus dismissed the man with a wave of his talons and a shake of his head. He may have read most of the book on idioms, studied them even, but Butler was just too difficult to understand in general. And even then, it wasn't entirely worth it.

He focused instead on more important tasks, one was counting what little of his belongings he wanted to take with him. He had every intention of returning. Normally, he would have ignored the messages Sol sent his way. But his gut was clenching painfully – this time, it was different – and he would regret it if he didn't go.

Family. He wasn't sure he could call them that anymore with all the time he spent apart from them, with how they always came last in his list of priorities.

Shepard and himself had talked about family once or twice. During those nights when he was still in HQ, cleaning his guns, and she'd walk in exhausted from whatever she did for Aria. Sometimes there was blood crusting on her usually pristine black armor, sometimes there wasn't. But most nights she had a new bottle of wine, New Contact, and other notable vintages from Thessia that smelled pleasant, even to him.

"You ever think of going back to Cipritine?" She asked once to fill the silence.

The cloth in his hands came up black with the stink of iron. His eyes fixed on the mouth of his sniper rifle. "Once or twice. Not really though. My family in Palaven—they have a whole life outside of me now. When I'm there I feel like I don't belong."

She leaned on her elbows. "Tell me about it?"

Garrus looked at her, eyes shifting. "My dad always used to say, 'Do things right or don't do them at all.' In an ideal world, that'd be just about the best thing anyone can ever say.

"Only it's not. We don't live in the ideal world. And no one gives a damn about what's right, just what's easy. The red tape says it all. The crime rate in places like Omega and Ilium is all the proof anyone needs.

"We didn't see eye-to-eye, as humans would say. Finally, it escalated into a fight. It hasn't been the same since."

"So what's the point of shaping Omega into this ideal?"

He told himself it was the alcohol in her system talking, making her cheeks flush and her voice low. But her eyes were clear, looking at his face. Searching, always searching.

That got his blood boiling for a minute as his hands clenched and unclenched, cleaning rag dropped. Garrus wasn't sure he wanted to interpret the reasons for this reaction.

"The point?"

"Your father was the one who ingrained in you this concept of justice. You may not agree with the means, but the ideals are the same. Don't you think maybe your problems with him are rather childish? Something you can set aside easily?"

"You sound like you didn't have problems with your own father."

She smiled at him. There was something mysterious about it. "I owe my father everything. There is no room for hate."

He snorted. She laughed.

Yeah, impossible.

"Besides, without him we wouldn't have met under these circumstances."

"Well, that would be a shame now, wouldn't it?" He laughed too and she took another sip from her glass. "But really Legacy, too much time has passed. It's, well, awkward."

"It's nothing like being here with Archangel, is it?"

"Mm-hmm. I suppose we could say we're a family by choice."

"A Legion." She nodded. "Bond brothers. I understand the concept." She smiled. "Family."

"Yeah."

"Wait," She sat up straighter and blinked.

"What?"

"Did you just say 'we'?"

He feigned ignorance then, picking up the rag and resuming his cleaning. He caught her actually pouting then, her eyes narrowed as she continued to drink. Garrus had wanted to laugh out loud but then it wouldn't do to give himself away.

Garrus didn't think he would ever be seeing her again. He doubted he wanted to.

"Boss!"

Grundan came running towards him just as he was about to make that final step into the frigate. A family of humans had already passed him, so did a few turians and an elcor. Grundan held in his hands something blue and fluffy. When he reached finally reached Garrus, Grundan thrust out both his hands to give it to him. "I know it isn't exactly cold in Cipritine but I wanted to give this to you."

"What is it?" Garrus picked it out of the stockier man's hands. It was rare for humans to be bigger than turians, but this delicately woven thing seemed out of place for both of them.

Grundan turned red, shifting nervously in place. "A scarf. Wrap it around your neck to keep warm."

Garrus looked at it, hands running through the fabric. It would have been nice to have had this when he went to Noveria. That thought got Garrus to chuckle under his breath. "Thanks, Grundan. I'll never know when I'll need to stay warm."

"You don't like it?"

"It's not that. More like, hmm. What made you think to give it to me?"

Grundan shrugged before showing a small, nervous smile. "Le— A mutual friend said you'd understand if I said it was my father who taught me how to do it."

Garrus' grip on the scarf became tighter. "I—Thanks. Grundan."

Grundan's smile grew larger. "No problem, boss."

He boarded the frigate that was headed for the Citadel but not without receiving very angry looks from Melanis and Erash, and a few tears from Sensat, Grundan, and Mierin. He shook Sidonis' hand and gave a nod and a clap on the back to everyone else from his team, save Nalah and Sensat, who insisted he give them hugs. Garrus felt then, as he boarded the ship and looked back one, two, three times, that he was leaving everything he wanted to take with him.

He was going to return. That, he swore.

* * *

Cipritine was by far the most beautiful city Garrus had ever known.

He was well traveled by turian standards. He'd been to Thessia a handful of times and admired the asari and the dusky hue of their sky. Sur'kesh had been lush with green and smelled distinctly sweet like levo fruit. The Citadel that he had called home for a while was far too impersonal and busy. Though he could easily claim that it had been the most convenient out of all the places he had lived in. There was also all those places he had been to as part of Alenko's team. They'd been to every planet of nearly every race.

Earth was sketchier in his memories, almost pure imagination even, as he had never been there himself. He had heard of the expanse of oceans, the deep blue color of the sea and the blue of the sky. He supposed his imaginings combined with half-remembered vids beat most of the homeworlds he'd seen in person.

Nothing, however, beat Palaven. Cipritine, most of all.

Garrus could say he was a little biased, having grown up in the capital. Cipritine was a busy city. Understandably, the population consisted mostly of turians with the volus a close second. There were also many asari and the occasional salarian and hanar. A rare sight would be a human, what with the history of the Relay 314 Incident to muddy relations along. There would be a war veteran or some xenophobic fool that would spice things up a little but there was nothing that escalated beyond control. Quarians were in a similar bind, as they had an unsavory reputation as well. If he hadn't met Tali, he'd have to admit that he might have felt the same way about quarians as everyone else did. Rarer still would be a krogan, and that was many times more awkward than anyone would like; a mix between harboring hatred and sympathy for them tended to do that.

The land itself was naturally hard for anyone or anything without natural plates. All local fauna and flora had some way to combat radiation. Otherwise, there were people in hardsuits and radiation patches all the time. The landscape consisted mostly of sand and rock. There was the occasional hill with plants but as apex predators they fed more on meat than anything else save for tupari and a few other greens. What little water was around, however, was a beautiful sapphire color—but other than that, little of what was naturally there in Palaven was worth the tourist stop.

In other words, it wasn't the people or the sights that made Cipritine a marvel; it was the architecture.

Every building was made of what was called Cipritine glass. None of that steel that a human general once mentioned, or what they used to create frigates with. None of that held a candle to the durability and sheen of this glass. It also naturally absorbed the radiation, making it less harsh for any visiting race, hence most structures were made of the material.

Then there was the skillful manipulation of the resource. Buildings were fashioned with huge columns, precise and expert frescoes, high ceilings and open air. Everything was clean, sharp, pristine.

Walking out of the ship, admiring once again the magnitude and brilliance of the city and the history behind every image, every sculpted piece—he knew that he had returned to some place he had forgotten while being in a controlled environment like the Citadel or in a dump like Omega. He had returned to his territory, his terrain, where his eyes were clearer and his ears sharper.

"Garrus!"

He sensed the call before it happened and turned to see his younger sister. Solana was waiting near the exit, one arm stretched to call for his attention as she waved it around. When their eyes met, she put her hand down and he walked towards her. Slung over his shoulder, all the things he brought from Omega felt heavier.

"Sol," He reached out to grab her arm but she jumped him instead. Chuckling as he had the wind knocked out of him, he said: "You look well."

"And you—" She took a step back to study him. Familiar green eyes roved from his feet up to his face. "Well, I wasn't expecting much. Now that you're not with C-Sec."

He turned away, lifting his bag higher up his shoulder. Garrus began to tread out the doors, hailing a skycar from the transit hub. "How is mom?"

He felt rather than saw Solana's glare as they got into the car. His luggage took a seat between them as Garrus channeled his omni-tool to take them to his house's coordinates.

His sister's gaze never wavered. "Why?"

"What? I can't ask about my own mom?"

"You didn't seem to care all that much. Not with the way you were ignoring us."

"I was— preoccupied."

"Preoccupied? Spirits, Garrus. What kind of C-Sec officer, oh, no- _former_ C-Sec officer with no wife or job—what kind of things were you preoccupied with that you couldn't even see your sick mother?"

Alenko. Reapers. Collectors. Omega.

He could enumerate a hundred different valid excuses but still they paled in comparison to his responsibilities as a son.

"She looks for you, you know, when she— When she remembers. It's getting less now, though."

The number of times she looked for Garrus? Or, the number of times she remembered? The answer to that would be horrible either way. An apology didn't seem to cut it at all, so he didn't say anything during the entire ride to his house. He gave her a short nod and she returned his gesture with narrowed eyes and a snappy turn to look out the window.

Edited 06.11.2014


	26. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone I hope this chapter finds you well. Also, please leave me a review/comment if you can. Enjoy!
> 
> Small reference to A Bullet for Your Sins, the Mass Effect 3 comic.

**Chapter 23**

The Vakarian Villa was home once. He'd grown running around the place, being taught how to be a true turian, a soldier. Childhood friends he hadn't contacted in years came to mind: Priscilla, Orion, Lupin- he wondered what they were all like now, what they were doing.

Thoughts came to a screeching halt when he remember the villa had also been a cage. Garrus didn't want to dwell on that, however.

The Vakarians had been an old and affluent family. They still were, in the sense that every member had risen up the Hierarchy on their own abilities and merits. An exception had yet to exist. There was no black sheep that might drag the name through the mud.

Maybe his father always thought Garrus would be that one Vakarian. Maybe that's why he held on too hard, drove him too far. Again, he didn't want to dwell on that.

They drove in through the open gate and got off the skycar in silence. Garrus lifted the handle of his bag higher over his shoulder and took a deep breath before entering.

"Dad's in the study." Solana all but muttered as she left towards the direction of his mother's room. He had wanted to go in there first but it seemed like Solana was having none of that.

Steeling himself, he went to his father's study and pinged in.

"Enter."

With his breath held, Garrus opened the door and saw his father for the first time in three years.

As a Vakarian, Titus had reached the pinnacle of honor. He had been a decorated C-Sec officer, a symbol of the best Palaven could offer to the Council. He held the trust of Primarchs past and present and of Generals of distinction; a man of honor. To any female turian (or, xenophile, though his father would shudder to think of any female that wasn't turian), he was a prize and an ideal. The colony markings matched his onyx plates and despites his age he stood tall and met his adversaries and friends in the eye when he spoke to them.

To Garrus, this was more intimidating than his near death experience with the Blood Pack, which was a feat by itself as at that time since he had been running from about 20 vorcha with both his assault and sniper rifles on their last thermal clips.

Now, he had no gun or weapon. Not that shooting his father had ever been an option to solving their differences. Or, rather, he HAD considered it, but Garrus clung onto that last strand of filial piety he had in him.

His father was looking out the window, his back towards him and his hands behind his back. He took his time even as Garrus shuffled closer and cleared his throat as softly as he possibly could, just so it wouldn't appear like he was trying to call for his attention.

"You'd think you'd go see your mother first."

It was an oddly casual tone, coming from Titus Vakarian—even his subtones came out clean. There was no hint of spite, no angle to try to make him the bad guy or the disobedient son. It sounded more than anything like an observation, a description of fair weather.

"Solana said you wanted to see me, sir."

His father approached his desk, motioning for his son to sit in front of him. Garrus only hesitated for a second before approaching. "Why now?"

"Sir?"

"Your sister's been trying to get through to you since you told her you've left C-Sec," Garrus almost didn't flinch. But his father caught enough of it that his grey eyes narrowed. "Why did you finally decide to come home?"

Garrus felt the twitching of his fingers, that part of his brain telling him that it was time to pull the trigger, seal the deal. Only there was no lie he could say that sounded believable or intelligent. Furthermore, the truth sounded flaky and upsetting. Either way, it all sounded like, as had he learned from _Idioms for Aliens_ : bullshit (or did her learn that from Ripper?).

"It was off. Urgent. I thought at first it might have been mom—but I heard from Solana she was fine, despite the sickness." Garrus paused. "It was my gut, mostly. Other than that, I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Where were you before coming here?"

Garrus paused again, longer this time. "Omega."

"What were you doing there?"

His hand landed softly on his father's desk. He tapped all three of his talons against its surface. "I'm sure you have a good guess." _Or spies,_ remained unsaid.

"Humor me."

"Fine," He looked down at his hand for a moment, shifting in his seat so that the majority of his body would face his father, and then he started tapping his feet and couldn't stop. "I was doing in Omega what I couldn't do in the Citadel: getting things done."

His father didn't so much as speak or raise his voice. There was no long talk about principles or ethics, or actions and consequences. Titus Vakarian merely sat there, leaning back against the plush red cover of his divan and breathed a two toned sigh. His father looked older then than he ever did, less imperious than Garrus thought possible. In a lot of ways, that was worse than any amount of yelling.

Still, he didn't let his guard down as his father sat up straighter and met his eyes. "We have much to discuss. But not now. Go see your mother, eat dinner, settle down. Tomorrow, we'll talk."

* * *

Garrus didn't know what to expect really when he went into his mother's room this time. A lot of machines, monitors blipping, and the stink of gels and medication that stung his nose, maybe.

Instead, he found his mother smiling and speaking softly to Solana. There were no machines and the room was clean and smelled of his mother: iron and steel.

Aelia Vakarian had been in her prime, a force of nature. In her much younger years, still going by the name of Aelia Lentinus, she had rewritten the engineering syllabus to accommodate her, having learned everything in half the scheduled time. Furthermore, she had added in canonical textbooks her discoveries about the mass effect field theory and from a student she had become professor at the tender age of 18. Before she got married, she had been an engineer in a class of her own, having been a major proponent of artillery design that was still used today. On one of the last projects before her illness had finally forced her to retire early, she had been one of the heads of the design team that created the models for the Normandy; had machinated that Tantalus drive core from theory to reality.

She was quirky though, upbeat like Tali on a dextro-chocolate high tenfold. Clumsy in all things but tech. Kind to the point of naivety. There were times while Garrus was growing up when he had caught his mom crying after being yelled at by his father, usually because there was something fundamental she had forgotten to do around the villa or because she had spoken inappropriately towards an important guest. Geniuses and prodigies tended to be that way. Mordin, for example, was superior to his own kind in intelligence and yet lacked delicacy. Shepard was—he didn't want to go there.

So really, if there was any parent he wasn't quite living up to, it was his mother. Only, she had never forced him, never pushed him so hard that he thought he might break. Growing up, he'd watched his mother work— the level of mastery she applied to her machines, the love and attention she paid to them and yet she managed to divide her time between her kids and her work. Garrus had always liked the idea of being a Spectre, a concept that his family opposed, but for all his faults, she was always proud of what he had achieved.

This wasn't the first time Garrus had seen his mom ailing in bed. But the difference between then and now was that then he was at a crossroads between bending to his father's will or following his dreams. Back then, it was simply worded: become a Spectre or abandon your mom.

The choice was very simple. Black and white. If he was the boy he was then, he would feel like shit now for only coming when his mom seemed so much older than he last saw her; more wear on her plates, a paler sheen to her coloring, a softer presence.

The moment she saw him she grinned so broadly, beckoning him to walk to her faster. He could only comply with a swing to his step and a chuckle against his throat. There was no weakness in her eyes as he drew closer, no sickness in her smile she pulled him close, grabbing first at his elbow and then holding him in a long embrace.

"Garrus," His mother said in a voice that rasped harshly but her subtones remained strong and warm. "You're finally back."

Solana was sitting at her bedside opposite him, holding his mom's hand until he entered then she moved away slightly, their fingertips now barely touching. She gave him a strange impassive look, one he didn't expect from his little sister. During the embrace, she had looked away and the impassiveness gave way to near sadness as his mother leaned her forehead against his.

With an old strength that he remembered from when he was child, his mother pulled his hand down so he sat beside her. "You're finally back," she repeated even more softly.

"Mom," He couldn't help the shifting of his plates and the hum in his throat. "You look well."

"Son, you don't tell your sick mother she looks well. She sees through your lies."

He laughed at the playfulness of her tone. "I'm serious, mom. I was half afraid I was coming back to—well."

She nodded, leaning back against her pillows. "The sickness has progressed bad enough that it's been troublesome to move about."

"You're not supposed to be moving about, mom."

"Hmph, Solana, you listen too well to those doctors. What do they know?' She replied to Solana's comment in a gentle but knowing tone. "If I'm dying, I might as well be doing what I want to do."

Solana rolled her eyes, standing. "I'll get you something to drink."

"All right. Make it cold, dear. I'm sure Garrus would want some Tupari juice too?"

"Sure."

"On it." Solana nodded, her gaze lingering at the both of them before she made her way out.

His mother sighed, facing him with clear eyes. "I think that child is tired of taking care of me."

"Don't talk nonsense, mom. Solana loves you."

"And so do you but that hasn't stopped you from going out and having fun." She smiled, hands finding his as she held them both in hers. "How have you been?"

"Fine."

"Called bluff. Try again."

He coughed, laughing. "It's—I don't think it's a good enough excuse to not have been around all this time. Mom, I'm sorry. And I—"

What could he say? He really didn't want her to know; what if it made her health worse? The very notion made his gut clench— that he be the reason for her suffering was unbearable.

"Shh. It's all right, dear. You're here now."

"But—"

Her grip tightened. "And you're going to tell me what you've been doing. I don't want any garbage about how it will worry me. Otherwise, you won't get my blueprints for a sniper that I've been working on."

His mandibles flared at that. "Spirits, you've been working? You're supposed to be getting bed rest."

She waved him off. "Don't be silly. I'm sick, not senile."

"Mom—wait, neither dad nor Sol knows?"

She grinned at him, blinking. "I've been very discreet," she whispered softly, shifting her gaze to the door. "Did we ever tell them about any of the mischief we've done together?"

Garrus tipped his head back and laughed. Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason why he was a bad turian. "Never."

"Good. Now, give me all the juicy details. Don't leave anything out, I'll know."

Edited 06.21.2014


	27. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late but I hope this chapter finds you well. Please read & review! Would love to hear your thoughts, suggestions, complaints (because... it's taking forever HAHA), or whatever.
> 
> More reviews/comments also means: I'll post the chapter a little earlier. Don't be shy.

**Chapter 24**

"Ah."

That was all he got at the end of a very long conversation with his mother. Solana had stopped by briefly to drop off the drinks before she excused herself to go to work. He wasn't sure exactly where she was working or what she was working as. It suddenly hit him how distant they were now that he hadn't even thought to ask her as soon as he arrived from the ship.

They had also stopped briefly for dinner, which he stiffly shared with his father before excusing himself. The household help had given him odd looks when he said he would be bringing his mother's food himself.

But all the talk was over now. He had started from C-Sec and how he had wanted to just rip everyone's head off to be done with it. Saren. The Geth. Commander Alenko. Reapers. All the way to what he was doing in Omega, what he'd uncovered about the Collectors and their possible involvement with the Reapers, the people he had met in Omega, his teammates and his friends from the Normandy SR-1 to Archangel.

To Rachel, to Legacy and then to Shepard, because he couldn't help himself but as briefly and as vaguely as possible so his mother wouldn't wonder or ask about it.

"Ah?"

She nodded, her eyes wide. "Have you told your father about these Reapers? AIs are an interesting but tricky business."

He sighed, not only for the mention of his father but because he hadn't expected his mother's reaction. Of course, his mother would categorize sentient ships whose only purpose is to eradicate all life, as interesting— instead of normal adjectives like scary or terrible. "You think he'll believe me?"

"No." She smiled. "But there's no harm in trying."

"Yeah. Except misery, heartache—"

"Don't be overdramatic. Your father is kinder than that. And he's an investigator. You show him the evidence and he'll believe you." She patted him on the hand. "So, just this once, I'll forgive you for not being around enough."

"I thought you said we were okay."

"Hah, and you believed me? Don't be a dumb brat. You're supposed to have been over that years ago. Though I have to say there are some Generals today who've yet to grow out of that stage. Have you read some of the new policies over the last years? Disgraceful, I'd rather read the doodle pyjacks make with their shit."

"Mom!" Garrus spat, laughing.

She shrugged. "They can't call it treason if they have no proof." She smiled as she shook her head at him. "But anyway, enough of the boring stuff—"

"Mom, a threat to the entire galaxy is not 'boring stuff,' there are lives at stake."

Her mandibles clicked together. "Yeah. Sure. But about—Tali, Erash, and Legacy. It's nothing noteworthy if a quarian is good with ships but I like this girl who understands the artistry of the _Reverent_ —"

"Normandy, mom. The humans renamed it."

She clicked her mandibles again. "So, at least I know there are quarians with good taste. But this Erash is fascinating. You don't hear about batarians tinkering around with technology and making breakthroughs. You have to get us on vid chat right away."

So many shivers went up and down his spine that he almost stood up. Erash and his mother making tech together. Spirits. "Really?"

"It will make your father furious!" She replied gleefully.

"In that case." He got on his omni-tool and typed Erash a message. Whether or not Erash knew about his mother was a mystery but if it gave his mom some happiness (and sent his father through the roof) then he could grin and bear the sort of havoc they could wrack up together. "Sending. And— done."

"Excellent." She laughed. "On the other hand, this Legacy…"

He was proud that he neither flinched nor blinked.

"She sounds impressive. Secretive. You'd think humanity would be waving her around like a flag."

"Yeah."

His mother's gaze narrowed. "Something tells me you left a lot of stuff out."

There was a lot he couldn't tell her about Legacy. The least of all was her connection to the League of One, her profession as a former black op, her lifestyle of revenge. And even that didn't sum up the betrayal he felt every time her name and face was conjured up to the forefront of his thoughts.

"Complicated."

"Ah well," She coughed. "Relationships with humans and turians often are." She looked out the window then, turning her head to peer at the darkness. Was it that late already? Garrus had barely noticed. "You know, when we were making the _Rever_ —the Normandy," She coughed again and blinked several times. "Truthfully, we were supposed to make it look like the Relay 314 Incident was behind us. I was asked to make that ship as soon as the Hierarchy decided we had to make nice to the press. Its design had been in the works for what, 10 years? It wasn't easy for us to give it up.

"It got bad enough that the Lentinus family had employed a bodyguard for me. She was very interesting, for a human."

He sputtered. "A human? Mom, when did this happen?"

"You were a hot shot in the Citadel and your dad was still fixing 'important things' there with you before he decided to move back to Palaven. Your sister was doing her research work in Thessia, if you remember." She shrugged. "Not that I told your father that my life was in danger—"

"Mom!"

She chuckled and Garrus glared at her. "Anyway, she was interesting. I don't know what your grandfather was thinking when he thought a human bodyguard was a good idea. She was—well, she held grudges towards turians. Her family was killed during the war, from what I researched. She lived most of her life as a biotic and you know how much their community hates biotics. She got no support from her family and she had no friends." He nodded and she continued. "There were times where I was just waiting for her to kill me until one day, someone did attack—you should have seen her Garrus, I'd never seen anyone move so fiercely.

"When the people realized she was human they had tried to barter with her. Reminded her of all the things aliens and turians had done to the human race," She shook her head. Garrus had a hard time trying to convince himself that it wasn't Cerberus who tried to kill his mother. Or some other xenophobic cause with enough money to try.

"She said, 'I owe my loyalty to no race. I was told to protect this one woman, and that is what I'll do.' She took them out easily, called in a few people to clean up the mess. Your grandfather still talks about the contact who gave us that bodyguard. How easily everything was cleaned up without it leaking to all sort of places. I doubt even your father heard a mumble.

"For so many nights it plagued me. We had never liked each other before and all we had between us was a contract. I asked her, before her services were no longer needed, why she hadn't taken up the offer. What she said in answer to me, I'll never forget.

"You know what she said?"

He felt the pace of his beating heart quicken. He shook his head, no. "Tell me."

"She said, 'To whom do you owe your most profound affinity? To most of the turians, it is to your system. An incredibly flawed one. But you're not like the people who killed my parents. You're different. Just as she is different. It is only because of your likeness to her that I didn't sell you out."

"I looked at her and asked, 'Who is she?' and she looked at me for a long time before she pointed here— where the human heart beats." His mother motioned her talons to her chest. "She answered, 'To whom my most profound affinity rests. Who gave me everything when I had nothing.'

"Garrus," His mother nodded and his eyes snapped to look into hers. "I would understand, I really would, if you owe this person your most profound affinity too. And that there may be things about her you don't want to talk about."

He closed his eyes then, his talons clenching and unclenching. How is it that his mother knew him so well without him having to explain a single thing? He had given Legacy his most profound affinity, his respect—his affection. And she had tossed him aside, as easily as anyone would have a stranger.

When he thought about it, it was stupid too. For all their skirting around each other and their interactions they didn't have anything more than friendship. But when she was there, fighting behind him, sharing tactical advice, cheering him on for his decisions—talking about their pasts, their families; laughing, yelling, arguing—and watching, always watching and waiting. There was something right. Since they first met in the Citadel and she offered him a drink, he knew that he would hear from her again.

The choice when it happened was black and white: Forgive Legacy and be at odds with Archangel or defend Archangel and remove Legacy. Yet still he felt it, like a festering wound, which he shouldn't have left unhealed for this long. There must have been something he should have done, a salve to cure the injury.

After a while, his mother had hugged him again and sent him on his way to bed. Sleep didn't claim him till much later, and even then he dreamt only in grey.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast, his father had summoned him back to his office.

Garrus had expected the prim and formal way that his father had set things up. However, he hadn't expected who and what would be involved.

"I need to know that you're in this a hundred per cent, Garrus." His father motioned at the non-disclosure contract on the datapad.

Garrus tilted his head. "I have a choice?"

"We all have a choice." His father replied, his subtones laced with that weariness that Garrus had never heard before yesterday. He didn't remember a lesson about choices, otherwise, Garrus would have been living a very different life right about now.

Curbing the urge to start an argument, Garrus cleared his throat and took the contract. He pressed his talon against the end of the datapad and it saved his print and shut down. He handed it back to his father who placed it slowly back on his desk.

Titus nodded and began.

"Very few people know about this. A handful of Generals and the Primarch himself. It was originally assigned to your mother, as her expertise in technology might be able to help. But the Primarch sought my help out instead as investigations are commonplace in C-Sec.

"It is also the reason why it was best that you came home to help. You know how this goes and the secrecy it entails."

Part of Garrus waited for his father to say that his skills would also come in handy, but it wasn't like his father to just compliment anybody. Oblivious, Titus pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool and a few holos popped up. One was the blue prints of some facility located south of Cipritine, in a place called Renaudi. Despite being about half an hour away, it lacked the rigidity of the life exemplified by the city. Renaudi was known for its subtle but cool breezes and colorful colonial flowers.

Other holos included statistics, profiles of men and women. To Garrus's surprise, not all of them were turian.

"A few years ago a Recreational Facility opened up in Renaudi called South Pearl. It's gained a reputation for elite politicians and high ranking military men."

"A reputation like Chora's Den? Or like the Consort's Chambers?" Garrus liked neither insinuation. By the look on his father's face, neither did he.

"The latter. Which is the lesser of two evils. Mostly, it's a conversation salon. But they don't only have turians in their employment there. Men and women from all other places. Asari. Surprisingly, some humans as well. A few turians and drell." He allowed his son to scan over the profiles before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "But recently, there's been a—disturbance."

"In what way?"

"Clients, high profiled ones. Most enter just fine. But some become more than just regulars. After some time, they just stop signing in. They resign. Retire. Then, they disappear."

"It takes some time passes before they vanish though, according to this holo." Garrus pointed to the one in far right before swiping it closer. "Circumstantial evidence, which is why no raid permits have been issued for the South Pearl."

His father nodded, his eyes narrowing as he tapped in another slide to show up in the holo interface. "That may be so, but they all have one common link. But not all of South Pearl's clientele disappears. This point of inconsistency is giving the brass some pause. Likely, some criteria needs to be met.

"We've been assigned as a task force. Our objectives are to set up eyes in the Facility, find some proof that there is something happening and make the connection to South Pearl. There are several groups assigned to do this. We don't know all the members of the others task force as the point is to infiltrate from all angles. In some ways, we'll be spying on each other unknowingly."

"It sounds rather, hmm, subtle for a turian thing." Maybe it was the alien influence on Garrus that prompted him to use those words specifically. But in that strange way in that his father had yet to raise his voice at him, Titus merely nodded in agreement.

"We have an unusual tactician behind our operation. You can't know who he is though."

"Fair enough." Garrus shrugged. "Who is in our task force, exactly?"

His father shook his head. "I was asked to bring your sister into this."

"Ah. But she isn't in it."

"Your mother needs someone to be with her all the time." His father closed his eyes, then opened them to look out the window. "I would prefer that it was someone that I can trust."

"And Solana agreed?"

Garrus only got a nod as a reply. For a few moments there was only silence, Garrus sighed and scratched the back of his neck to fill the growing awkwardness. "Dad," he coughed. "Is South Pearl the only lead we have? Maybe there is another connection to all the disappearances?"

"There is another task force assigned to that. Yes." Titus nodded, turning back to the holos and folding his hands behind his back. "But this is the biggest lead. And my gut is clenching at the mere mention of the place—something is going on in there. You'll know when you get there yourself."

They discussed a few more things, thereafter. How regularly they would meet, some protocol on paper work, what to do during an emergency, and so on. Half of Garrus was into it; the old ways that seemed to have happened in another lifetime, while the other half of his mind was occupied by the thought of his sister, sitting at his mother's bedside, waiting.

Edited 06.22.2014


	28. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya guys, another Interlude. I'm a little sad at the lack of feedback and I'm hoping this chapter incites some of you to leave a word.
> 
> The timeline for every segment is jumbled. Just know that some of this happened while Garrus was in Cipritine and others while he was on his way there. Though I guess the time isn't important (at least not enough to fall over about).
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well.

**Interlude III: A Variety of Lenses**

Grundan realized he had lost his mind.

He had only come to know this when he was at the foot of Aria's staircase. By now, it was too late to back out without looking like a fool. The asari in question wasn't minding him and was otherwise preoccupied: looking at the drink in her hand, staring up at the ceiling, talking to one of her men standing by her.

Yes, Grundan had realized he had officially lost his mind. But at least now he can tell Vortash that he didn't have his cajones shoved up his ass (Vortash's lingo, not his).

He clicked his heels together, tugged his collar down, and clenched his butt cheeks— taking one deep breath, he said:

"I want to know where Legacy is."

The dancers on Aria's floor stopped gyrating, the music softened into near muteness—even the usually silent Grizz climbed up the stairs from his post with a sidearm cocked and ready.

Aria, drink in hand, downed it with a tilt and swallowed just as fast before she said:

"No."

That's what had happened the first day.

The second day, the friendly turian Grizz stopped him at the foot of the first set of stairs before reaching Aria's floor.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" He asked, his face plates shifting into what Grundan had identified as worry. The boss had looked that way once or twice before, during a few of their earlier works. Recently, up till his departure, they were set in darker and more pronounced lines.

"No." Grundan gulped. "But I need to know where she is." He pushed passed him and up the stairs. This time Aria had her arms stretched on the backrest of her couch, to her left was the asari-Legacy.

"I want to know where Legacy is."

Aria looked at the asari beside her.

"You know who I'm talking about. I know she isn't dead. And I also know you know where she is." He swallowed, standing straighter. "Ma'am."

The new Legacy turned to Aria, a smile on her face. "Seems like Archangel has more guts than we thought, even without their leader."

Grundan told himself not to think about how they knew the boss was gone. What was important was that he find out where the first Legacy was.

"And what will you do with the information?" Aria waved her hand before putting it again on the backrest of her couch.

"I need to give her something in person."

"And what for?"

"Because I promised her I would make it for her." Grundan pulled out from his pocket the pair of gloves he made from the leftover yarn. "And I always keep my promises."

Aria stared down at him and the gloves with an unreadable expression. "Make an exception."

"I can't."

"Aria, ma'am." Grizz came up behind him, clearing his throat. "If I can say something—"

"No."

"Ma'am, Legacy has warned me that this might happen and that I can send what it is over to her." Grizz looked away from the icy glare of his boss.

Grundan shook his head. "I'd like to send it to her myself, if you don't mind."

"Legs gave me specific instructions that it would be best to send it over. You can't know where she is, I'm afraid. You can always wait till she happens to pass by."

Grundan knew that the turian was telling him that he would never be able to hand it to Legacy. Ever. And though his heart was heavy, he handed the pair of gloves to the turian. "Please make sure she gets them."

Grizz's nod was barely reassuring, but Grundan steeled himself and made his way back to base.

* * *

Mordin looked at the specimen in the tube. A green semi-culture of something he had yet to name was trapped inside. He capped it immediately as the pungent smell reached his nose. It reminded him a bit of the fungus stuck between the toes of that Vortash. Unpleasant to both the visual and the olfactory nerves. Had to treat him for some serious injuries the other day. It was... unfortunate. Not the injury, but the fungus.

Nonetheless, the specimen was good for future research on the effects of drell skin on human physiology. Mordin had doubts on the claims about them being hallucinogens. Seemed more like the rantings of alien-phobics. Also, Tara had no problems when sleeping with them. Not likely to enjoy the effects of drugs of any kind, save for maybe stims but with that, there was an occupational reason for her addiction. He still didn't like it.

"Doc," The turian guard from Afterlife entered his office. He did not bother to knock, a typical belief that all of Aria's people seemed to carry about them. That and the smell of burnt krogan hide and what Mordin believed was pineapple juice—fascinating.

"Grizz. What brings you here?" Mordin fingered the handgun sitting on the desk.

The gesture was not lost on the turian as he pulled out a pair of gloves. Yarn. Handmade. Blue. Variant #1669D5. The color of the dusk in the Citadel. The night sky of Thessia. Gitrian plum native to Sur'Kesh-

"I need you to give this to Legs."

And Vakarian blue.

Ah.

"She doesn't need reminders of Omega. Not by the note she left."

"It's not from that oddly good-looking turian beau she may or may not like now—some guys have all the luck." That last bit was muttered, but Mordin heard it, of course. Wouldn't do to not hear, STG training may have something to do with that. Scientist traits as well: nosey, suspicious, genuinely sharp. "Ahem. Anyway, it's from that big human with the arms the size of krogan humps."

"Ah. Grundan."

Grizz hummed. "He promised he'd hand these to her himself. But, you know how Legs can be. Anyway, fed him this story that she put me in charge of any unfinished business. Come to think of it, Doc, I'm surprised he didn't go to you first."

Mordin sniffed, taking a glance past Grizz and at the entrance. Mordin had known Tara, before she was Shepard, before she was Alice. He had been a friend of her teacher, Lor, and had admired him— as hard as it was to admire anyone. No one of real distinction ever lived anymore, especially among a race with such a short life span. However, Lor had been the epitome of brilliance and carried gifts that so many salarians had longed for. One of them was a gift the galaxy had thought was impossible.

Different story, however.

Anyway, Mordin didn't go around Omega trying to draw attention to his relationship with Legacy. That was something only spiteful, old, asaris did. The problem with living so long— you make more mistakes.

"Very well. I'll make sure she gets it." Mordin walked behind his desk, opening the drawers there and dumping datapads into a bag he dragged from under the bed.

"Doc? Uh, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing."

"You're _what_?"

"Sending gift risky, could be traced. Better to jump into a vessel, lose track of anyone following—then set up a meeting. STG style, they'll never be able to keep up." Mordin paused in his packing, he fixed his gaze on the turian, gloves held firmly in his grip. "Want to come?"

"You'd let me?"

"Legacy doesn't mind your company. Trusts you, helped her secure help in Tuchanka, kept her secrets for a fair price— certain she wouldn't mind seeing the face of a friend."

"Doc, don't you have work here? Don't the people here rely on you?"

That made Mordin pause, blinking several times rapidly as he thought it through. He was here in Omega to make up for— things. He had as much reason to stay and not leave as Archangel did. Though, Mordin had heard that their head had left for his family— of course, Mordin had overheard that from a patient, human, rather chatty. Was it Weaver or Butler? Both were equally irritating and lacked discretion.

But the turian was right, he couldn't leave the clinic. Not at this critical stage.

"Very well. You go. I'll tell Aria."

"Oh yeah, sure— what?"

"Set up all the arrangements for you, pay for anything you might need. Important that this gift gets to Legacy. She liked Grundan. Was close to him. She needs more normal friends." Mordin nodded. This time he stuffed a different bag with a credit chit and a pistol. "Can arrange for transportation in an hour. Three to five jumps to different places, preferably 3 different systems. Quick and quiet. You'll be gone before Aria can tell me to go to hell." Mordin paused, "Or whatever the asari variant is."

"Wait, doc— where is Legacy right now?"

"Cipritine." Mordin nodded. "Heard you're from there. Big advantage. Won't have to look through overly friendly holograms of Armina." Mordin already hated Avina from the Citadel, for whatever inexplicable reason the asari holo had infected her turian counterpart with the same grating cheeriness. "Best head to docks after packing. You should—"

Before Griz could bolt from there, Mordin had already grabbed on to his armor. On his other hand, he had his green specimen. "There are fates worse than death, turian."

"I think I heard this same speech from Aria once." Griz murmured. "But you are not making me go back to that cursed planet. Never. Not even for Legs."

Mordin smiled. "Big mistake."

* * *

Liara thrived where she thought she wouldn't. Building herself from the ground up in an unexpected way; she thought she would be under her mother's shadow her whole life. Now, a little more than a year after the Commander's death, she was no longer just another asari in Ilium.

Especially now as she looked at the reports on one of the Eclipse's shipment and the accompanying Intel that said Blue Suns had plans to intercept it. She knew about every unturned kiosk in Ilium and about every pyjack that had crawled and hid under it.

It was only a matter of time till she finally nabbed the Shadow Broker and made him pay for what he did.

"Justice with anger is just revenge." Shepard had been looking out the window, staring at the skyline and the flying vehicles that sped far and out of sight. "I don't think you're going about this method right, Doctor."

"Isn't that what your business is all about?" Liara asked her, head tilted as she poured the variety of plum wine from Thessia. This one was called _Fira_ , for its sparkling and popping property against the tongue. "Not to mention, what do you plan to do when you get your hands on the Illusive Man?"

She didn't seem fazed. "Doctor, would you call yourself just an information broker?"

"Well, no. I used to be an archeologist."

"I'm not talking about what you used to be." Shepard didn't look back. Liara could see clearly through the reflection that she was looking steadily outside the window. Her eyes were focused. "I'm talking about what you are right now."

Liara thought about it for a while, lifting her drink up to swirl it around. Not taking a sip, she put it back down with a sigh. "I can be plenty of things at the same time but not in the same way. Is that what you're getting at, Rachel?"

"I am over 2,403 individuals, all at once and all at the same time."

Liara burst out laughing. "Rachel, you're not trying to wax poetic, are you?"

"No." Shepard folded her arms behind her back. "I am 2,403 people all at once and all at the same time."

Liara laughed again. Maybe it was the alcohol getting into her system. "That's something only a machine can do."

"No, sentient organics are perfectly capable of it as well." Through the reflection, Liara saw the smile on Shepard's face. It wasn't one that she recognized. "Maybe even more so, as I am 2,403 individuals. Is it hard to fathom?"

Liara nodded.

Shepard looked back, the light from outside the window cast Shepard's face under complete shadow. "I told you I didn't want you to look into my mind because I won't have any control of what you see in there. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Look into my mind now."

"What?" Liara jumped a little. "You— I'd rather we not do something you don't want to do."

"The only way I can show you is if you look into my mind, my memories." Shepard or Rachel— took a step forward. "You'll see. Look for my memory of the Protheans."

At the time, Liara nodded and recited the words she used now as a warning, " _Embrace eternity_."

Liara searched through Shepard's mind, new thoughts came forth. The memory of snow, the memory of a woman with black hair and eyes and a father with gray hair. She saw the memories of a blue swing, the baseball bat of a young boy, a picture of an asari on an old edition of Fornax—wait, what were these? Why hadn't she seen them before?

Immediately, Liara ducked out—head spinning, she held the edge of her desk. In the meantime, Shepard didn't move.

"What—whose memories were those?"

"Cain Sullivan. He grew up in Sweden. He loves baseball. When he was 19, he eloped with an asari." Shepard looked back at the window. "It took me longer than I wanted to since the Prothean ruin scrambled everything, but I've finally fixed the memories into someone else. Neither Rachel nor Cain know about the Protheans. He is me and I am him."

"You've— you've compartmentalized memories using biotics? That isn't— it's not something humans can do. Even human biotics." If Liara were to be honest, not a lot of asari could do it either. Maybe the older ones, as it would be hard to hide things from a lover. But there had been research on how to segregate thoughts and how even between two asari's, they were capable of hiding things from each other. "You're a biotic?"

"Not really." Was the low reply. "But I've been exposed to enough eezo to invest in a few tricks. It isn't perfect, the memory is pretty much seared enough that it can surface in dreams. It shouldn't keep me from my job. But, it is important that I retain a certain individual, always, and not get lost in the many."

"Your ability to do that specifically is too much of a coincidence."

"It isn't. I was exposed just enough and just precisely that only that function was affected. It helps, with the graybox in there as well. Things can get messy." Shepard smiled. "But I've told all this to you to prove a certain point: do you know who you are, right now? And," She looked out the window. "Is that person capable of this cold revenge you're planning?"

Liara stood up from her desk now, dismissing the memories. She had finished reading reports about her Normandy SR-1 crew. Garrus had moved back to Palaven, though Liara had yet to find out what he was working on. Williams was making waves in the Alliance, outside anyone's expectations. Tali and Wrex were doing well with their people.

The most important report was the one on Commander Alenko and the fact that it was only a matter of time before he would wake up.

And Liara knew that she owed a certain friend, one whose whereabouts were mostly speculation at the moment since this friend left Omega. That friend needed this information, even if it didn't have to come directly from Liara herself. She also owed this friend an answer. The sooner this friend finished with her plans, the sooner Liara could pool more resources to find out where she was and have a bigger chance at getting results.

Opening up her omni-tool interface, she made a vid call. "Rina, I need you to get this information moving. It's about Commander Alenko."

* * *

Face against the desk, Weaver groaned before saying, "I miss the boss."

"It's only been a week." Krul observed while shifting through the holos of his extranet connection. Grundan was lying down on the couch, tired from the raid that they had done just an hour ago. Sidonis had been riding them harder than the boss ever did, and he definitely wasn't as pleasant about it.

"Tell me you don't miss him." Weaver groaned again.

Krul blinked, fingers hovering over the holo before he looked up. "The boss' leadership is preferable. Melanis' insight would also be preferable."

Grundan also winced when Weaver half screamed and half cried, voice muffled by the position of his face on the dining table. Melanis had also been another missed presence, though it's not that Sidonis and her hadn't tried to get along. It was more like they couldn't and they didn't want to. Thus, she had been sitting out and doing Intel instead of playing devil's advocate the way she did when the boss was around.

"Erash," Sensat's voice up the stairs made them jump. "Erash, wait!"

The batarian in question was running down the steps, a rare moment of him leaving his room while there was no on-going mission. All four of his eyes were narrowed as he tried to make his way out of the base, if not for the barrier Sensat erected in front of him.

"Or what, asari? Are you going to use your biotics on me to bend me to your will?" Erash turned back, his usual gruff and slightly bored tone was replaced by something more familiar to Grundan. Harshness, hatred; the usual marks of a batarian towards a human. "Maybe the boss and maybe even Legacy don't know, but I saw what you tried to do. You asari are all the same."

If Sensat didn't have the patience she did, she might have rammed her barrier and sent Erash flying across the common room.

Fortunately, she did have the patience. Though the twitching of her fingers didn't seem like a good sign.

A few moments of staring off and Sensat looked away and took out the barrier. Without another word, Erash left HQ—he didn't turn back to see Sensat crying and Weaver trying to comfort her.

In the meantime, Grundan sat back, feeling small despite his large frame. He debated going after Erash, to ask him what he was talking about, what he meant by the words he spat at Sensat. Maybe it was obvious to everyone but Grundan knew what Erash might have meant.

Everyone knew the story, but no one was allowed to talk about it. Legacy got violent, perhaps to the point of killing Sensat without blinking. This was fuelled by Weaver who pointed out after the incident that Legacy was not averse to torture of the worst kind. Sensat said that it had been her fault, not Legacy's, but the boss had defended Sensat, stating that she shouldn't be giving Legacy excuses for the wrong she'd done.

It seemed that Erash was of another opinion, one that he had yet to share with even the boss. Grundan swallowed and tried to remember the breathing patterns his dad had taught him when he was on the verge of crying; slow and deep to ease the tension

But as he watched Weaver talk to Sensat, as Sensat stood and nodded along with whatever he was saying, the nervousness in Grundan's gut only built up.

* * *

Kandros waited, hood up, tupari in hand as she tried and failed to clamp down effectively on the straw that the all too happy asari provided her. This came along with a pocket holo of her extranet address with a heart instead of a dot for "i" in her name, "Rina T'Daerie" and a loaded look that Kandros hadn't seen since she started living in the tunnels and among sewage.

"I can't believe you've been reduced to this." Liselle frowned at her, months back. She had looked at a stain on one of the cots Kandros had found abandoned in front of a residential complex. "You can always live with me, you know?"

"And risk your mother finding out?"

"Don't say the M-word out loud!" The young asari sulked, cheeks puffy and her already purple-toned skin turning a deeper shade around the cheeks.

Kandros put her hands up. "Don't worry about it, child. I'll live."

Of course, Liselle continued to fuss. Even if it had been years since she left Aria. Habit had taught the child the familiarity of nagging; an unconscious want to return to safer and more secure times. But even a rundown place like Omega had felt the repercussions of whole human colonies disappearing. Slave trade. Red Sand businesses. All of them dirty but still, Liselle was more Aria than Kandros ever wanted her to be. Losing money because humans were disappearing in droves was a lot of credits lost. What Kandros was doing wouldn't only save lives but it would—

Spirits. Now wasn't the time to think about Aria and Omega. She had a job to do.

Right.

As she tried (and failed) to drink from the straw, she heard someone clear her throat before taking a seat in front of her. She met a pair of large, blue eyes underneath a fringe that was a shocking platinum blonde with, of course, a huge smile and very white teeth.

"Saragael." Kandros greeted, eyes on the straw as she glared at it.

"Commander Kandros," The girl nodded, smile still in place. Years back, Kandros and the majority of the Cabal had thought that she was a weak link. One of their comrades paid for that assumption with two broken legs and a dislocated shoulder with not to mention, properly filed and organized papers detailing charges of harassment. Included were vid recordings, voice recordings, and testimonials. The lawyers couldn't find a single loophole. Thorough was an understatement for the work Sara had dealt— Shepard had trusted her with a lot of murky political gunk and she got them out spotless every damn time. "I heard from Shep-Shep that we're about to start the party here in Thessia before we hold the main bash in Omega."

"Nyreen is fine." Kandros scanned their surroundings. A far cry from Omega, Thessia was the sapphire jewel of the galaxy. Its stability was unrivaled and its heritage unmatched. The only similarity between the two that Kandros could think of was that both Thessia and Omega were run by asari. And even if Saragael's words were vague enough, it really wouldn't do if anyone was listening.

"She gave you the details."

"Mm-hmm, enough code in the message that it would take a geth on stims to figure it out. Of course, I exaggerate. Maybe about three quarians on stims," She stood up with a bounce in her step. "Leave the drink. Don't want any eyes to follow us."

"Eyes?'

She pointed with the pursing of her lips at the direction of the flirty asari who was talking to a customer at the cashier. "She's not the only one we should watch out for."

Kandros sighed. Just when she thought her washed-out plates was an attractive feature nowadays.

"Come on." Saragael motioned for her to stand. "We'll walk and talk. Oh, and I go by the name Sarah. Not too far from the old days, luckily."

Kandros followed slightly behind the petite woman. She was shorter than Shepard and the big round eyes gave her likeness to Milinas, a type of feline turian house pet. It was the biggest irony that she was an informant of the highest level nowadays, as well as being the wife of an esteemed asari. Sarah had the charm to sway others with actions and words. Perhaps Kandros shouldn't have been too surprised, Legacy's influence hadn't stunted the growth of any individual of her team, not in the least.

For example, Azril was still making headlines in the Alli—

Spirits, she should stop thinking about all this irrelevant crap. Focus.

"So," Kandros spoke. Her face still properly covered by her hood. "What's the plan, Sarah?"

"Hmmm. Well, I haven't thought of anything specific but," she paused and flashed another brilliant smile. "I heard you still like explosions, Nyreen."

* * *

Legacy looked to the other side of the bed, blinking several times to adjust to the darkness and checking if Amadeus was awake. He did that sometimes, afterwards, watched her sleep while playing with her hair. This time, however, he had opted to lie on his stomach, the patterns of his skin on his back a mix of dark blues and greens. She reached out at first to touch, remembering the smoothness of the scales there—how strange and how familiar to her—but thought against it.

Instead, she lifted herself off the bed and tied the sash of her robe around her waist before taking the elevator down to engineering.

As in any standard turian design, the _Temperamental_ was built more for warfare than for anything else. It had four floors, one was added by the market as the Captain's Quarters. The rest was more like the late Normandy than anything but size wise, the _Temperamental_ being much smaller. But the Titus Drive Core had been what drew Legacy to the _Temperamental_. Every free moment she had was dedicated to going down to engineering to hear the core sing. She heard many stories about the Tantalus Drive Core, the massiveness of it and yet despite that the utter silence of the way it ran. Joker had more than a story or two to share about his old baby.

The _Temperamental_ didn't have that stealth or fancy heat emission system, but Titus reached speeds that normal frigates wouldn't dare to even attempt.

"Her speed is her stealth." Joker said happily while gliding his hands over the hologram of buttons. "Travelling faster than the sensors takes some skill," At that he was of course referring to himself. "High tech hardware, and the drive core of dreams."

Legacy couldn't agree more as she leaned her back against the wall, staring up at the mass effect fields, as they turned a white-blue color.

"Shepard Major," The automated voice of Legion woke her from her spell. "It is now four hours into the night cycle."

"Legion," She nodded. "Care to join me?"

"Do organics not normally replenish their energy at this time? The helmsman has already put your ship on autopilot towards Ilium."

She nodded again. "I can't sleep."

"Wasn't Amadeus-Terrorist supposed to help you sleep?"

Legacy couldn't help herself and burst out laughing. Legion obviously didn't find it amusing as the light on the mobile suit flickered several times. Clearly, he had overheard Amadeus' proposition to get to the cabin as soon as Kandros was dropped off at Thessia and wasn't around to object to "improper behaviour while on a vessel."

Not that Legacy had ever turned down Amadeus for sex. It was perhaps one of the reasons why she avoided him while she got into her only serious relationship. Mad seemed to understand that their friendship and their past had to be covered up because of the potential drama that would ensue and the nuisance of scuttlebutt. He was only more than happy to make up for lost time when she was no longer with Azril, and at present, every time they had to do a job together.

"He wasn't asking literally, I'm afraid."

"What did he ask for?"

"Sex. Intercourse. Fucking." The light flickered with every synonym. Legacy chuckled. "You must find organics confusing, Legion."

The light flickered again. "Did my question trouble you, Shepard-Major?"

"No, but I'm assuming it might have troubled you."

A pause. "We seek only to understand. Not to incite."

"Hm," She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. "Isn't that what got you into trouble in the first place? The fact that your curiosity made you sentient—made you too similar to organics?"

Legion crossed the distance between them, standing closer and taller next to her. Legacy could only wonder what the distance meant; whether or not he drew closer to pick up readings of her body or to see something he couldn't see from his former distance. There was that beep that signaled that he couldn't reach a consensus. "Insufficient data."

"You don't contain the history of your people?"

"This mobile platform does not have the capacity to bear the complete data, only partial information. However, other mobile platforms in Rannoch may have the complete data archived or machines connected to the main circuitry. If this platform can connect with a larger number of geth, we may be able to come up with a better answer."

"Sounds fair, it's not as if memory doesn't take up space." She tilted her head, leaning against the railings that blocked her off from the Titus Core. "I'm holding you to that, Legion. We're dropping you off next. You think you'll have an answer for me when we meet again?"

It took him a while to answer her then, but when he did there no was negative buzzing. "Yes."

* * *

Once she was gone, Amadeus made his way to the terminal to find out more about what he was getting into. Of course, it wasn't proper for a professional to run blindly into hell, whether or not it was with a trusted friend, but at least it involved some killing and a lot of skill. It still wouldn't hurt to find out more.

Killing had come too easy to Amadeus. He took the professional name Amadeus by the time he was 13 and by the time he was 14, his name was up there along with the greats. When one grows up knowing one was a genius, one becomes—disinterested in the simple, in the ordinary. Household names like Krios and Faltern have made occupations out of the ordinariness of death. But Amadeus was bored with the snipe-and-scope and the snapping-and-slicing of necks.

That was when magic came in. Amadeus was first introduced to magic when he had to kill a human magician. Before his death, Amadeus had went to his shows every day—first, because of research then later, because he was transfixed by the notion of trickery. Simple tricks were complex, difficult even for eyes that were used to tracking bullets and racing shadows.

Since Amadeus killed the man, however, he himself had adopted the essence of what it meant to fool an audience.

His favorite trick was the art of escape.

As Amadeus got closer to hacking into Alice's terminal, he recalled fondly how magic had changed his life. Killing was no longer a mundane and easy task. Since then, Amadeus would only take high risk assassinations— killings performed in public and broad daylight. The only exception he had ever made was when he had to work with Allie.

Alice. That had been her name when they first met at the young age of 15. At that time she had been the mere shadow of some dark beast, Lor, he was called in the Underworld—

_A pint size little girl with huge green eyes and red hair comes running from behind him. The wind of his coat is moved by the wind of her run._

_She dashes about like a whiplash, knocking down a turian twice her size and slitting his throat just as fast, she rolls under the cover of some cargo, all while bullets are being hailed at her and she remains still, composed, cocking her gun and popping up as soon as their guns overheat._

_She smiles as she comes out from cover, hair matted blue. Turning over to look at him with an eyebrow cocked, she moves forward and passes him. She has finished wiping out the base._

_At 15, he feels himself go hard over an alien—_ this _alien,_ the _alien. Over fired bullets and the stink of turian blood—_

If Arashu had her angels, then Amonkira had his shades. Since her independence, Allie herself had been one of those things.

 _Caeed_ , in his language, the shady wolves of Amonkira. They were predators of the highest caliber who granted assassins the swiftness of step and the dexterity of combat—sleek and dangerous. Amadeus believed that Alice was the incarnation of that very predator. She was no genius; she was the very embodiment of the hunt. And to Amadeus she was illusion and trickery in the flesh.

So, it was only fair that she came to the world with her own hang-ups and weaknesses. As Erashu couldn't console with Amonkira, so must the angels and the shades have their differences.

Still, to Amadeus, the mounting feelings he had for his friend and his rival had given him the ability to be flexible despite the pickiness—do everything for the fun of the hunt, but drop everything for Alice. Only for Alice. He believed they could work through their fears together—

" _You only find me attractive because you don't understand what I am." Her voice is deep and tired. Eyes greener than the seas of Kahje, a brilliant jade hidden at the bottom of a well._

_She slices through his confession, the words of adoration that he has practiced over and over without saying 'I love that you can kill a man in a blink of an eye' or 'I love that you are everyone and no one.'_

" _What don't I understand, Allie?" He gives her that half-smile even if at that time he does not feel like smiling. "I can count all the people you are at once, know them all by name and race and voice. I can match you in speed and skill. I know you are more than what Lor has made of you. You can predict every move I make, every port or door I can escape from. You can see through the skin of my race and the person I am beyond the killer._

" _I am you. And you are me. What is not to understand?"_

" _That's the thing, Mad." She smiles back, that too looks as forced as his own. "I am nothing more than what Lor has made me into."_

That was the last time he saw her before she got arrested. Next thing he knew, she was running around the galaxy as an operative of all things. Had her own title, her own name.

Shepard, they called her in the Underworld. He fucking hated Shepard. Shepard was the strategic genius. Shepard worked for the System Alliance. Shepard had her own team of operatives. Shepard fell in love with a man by the codename of Azril, got engaged to him, nearly married him—

Shepard was not Alice. She was a distorted form, _Daed_ , who had no qualms about torture and no eye for subtlety. That she had so easily convinced Alice, all of her, that Azril was the right man. That he could take away her fear of trust. Amadeus could have accepted it if it was Alice herself, but Shepard? Perhaps, the difference was difficult for other people to grasp but Amadeus knew Alice.

She was him. And he was her.

Truly, Palaven didn't deserve the demolition he inflicted on it at the very thought of losing Alice to Shepard. But he _fucking_ hated Shepard. And the turians were getting complacent. Kandros should learn to let it go.

Well, it was no wonder that engagement didn't work out in the end— both with Azril and the Alliance. And she returned to the shadows—nameless and broken— and Amadeus was there to greet her.

"How goes the hacking?"

When she came up behind him, soundless and unassuming, he only put his hands up and slid away from her terminal. Amonkira, he loved it when she outplayed him. It made him want to scratch her eyes out. "Your terminal was a bitch to decode, Allie."

"And yet you managed?"

Amadeus laughed. "Who do you think I am? Kandros?"

"Oh?" She walked up closer behind him, a hand on the backrest of the chair. He could imagine her touch lingering on his neck. He kept the shiver to himself when she laughed softly. "Are you sure you're looking at the right inbox, Mad?"

"What do you—" His fingers danced over the terminal keys and he looked at the inbox. Junk mail. "Fuck, really? Overlaying it with a junk mail archive? Fucking—there are more layers of this shit?"

"Well, I was expecting some nosey fool to start snooping around without permission." She leaned forward, close enough that her breath touched the skin of his neck. "If you asked, I could just tell you."

He scoffed. "Yeah. Sure. Allie telling the truth on her own volition."

"Try me."

"Fine," He swiveled in his seat to face her. Her eyes noted the complete lack of clothes. His lips cocked into that half-smile when she shook her head. "What are we doing in Palaven?"

"Didn't I already tell you? We need to bring the evidence to them. No one is safe from the Collectors and the Reapers that they work for."

"Yeah, you did say that." He waved his hand. "But how are we doing it? Allie, you've never been one to just jump. You must have come up with something elaborate."

"I have, yes." She nodded and then smiled. "But, since this will be the first job we've had together in a long time I wanted to surprise you. I can tell you—it is infiltration. And kidnapping and explosions somewhere in there as well. You'll love it."

"Hmm. Fine. So what's this I've been hearing about Commander Alenko?"

"Why? What have you heard?"

Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms over his bare chest and un-crossed and re-crossed his legs. "He's alive."

She only hesitated a little, but there was hesitation and that had made him tap his foot in a rhythm. "Yes. He's been— resurrected. By Cerberus. They called it the Lazarus Project."

"What? Cerberus? Those little—"

"I know what those bastards are, believe me, but they did the impossible. Right now, I'm only repaying a debt. I've received news that it's only a matter of time now before he wakes up." Alice made her way to the terminal; leaning against him as she bent down to shut it off. "And then, I can officially turn over all this work to him and my debt will be repaid. Then I can go back to what I should be doing."

"And what is that?"

"Looking for my _Abrul._ " This time she didn't hesitate. Amadeus tapped his foot against the floor even faster.

"Allie, it's likely the old man is no longer around. Salarians don't live that long."

"I know." She nodded.

"Then you do know that this could be just a waste of time. Doing all these good deeds for nothing?"

"I don't think intergalactic security and stability is just for nothing. Even if I found out Lor isn't around, I'll be doing it without worrying about the end of the world sneaking up behind me."

His eyes narrowed. "You sound like a soldier. The worse kind. Like Kandros and Alenko."

 _Like fucking Shepard_ remained unsaid.

She shrugged and made her way towards the bed. "Think what you like, Mad."

"Promise me." Amadeus stood up, following behind her quietly before putting his hand slowly on her shoulder. He knew that if he did that too fast she would balk, when she didn't he felt all the more at ease when she turned to look at him. "Promise me that you'll give this all back to Alenko and that you'll be you."

She put a hand over his, meeting his black eyes with her green ones. For all the devotion and adoration he had for her illusions, he couldn't tell if he was looking into the eyes of Alice or someone else.

" _Lie to others," He tells her. They are much younger and the world is just the backdrop to their madness. "Just not to me."_

Now, the eyes he looked into were those of a stranger.

But the hand above his own was warm, and so he took comfort in the fact that at least, that was real.

Edited 06.30.2014


	29. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness. Hope this chapter finds you well.
> 
> Sincere thanks and love for those who are leaving a word in and for those who continue to read. Also, if you read Dragon by the Ridge look forward to a future update soon. :P
> 
> Leave me some love on your way out.

**Chapter 25**

There was a time when Garrus enjoyed being an investigator.

Back when he was in the middle of his career, after some of the anger towards his father had ebbed away. He realized he had the knack for it— the discipline, the required intelligence (above it, or so he'd been told), and the patience (though just barely).

However, when he climbed higher up the ladder he realized that the weight of justice could not be carried by the scaffold of bureaucracy and the fastenings of red tape. Nonetheless, he had lost neither the skill nor the ability for investigation in the long period that he had ceased to be C-Sec.

First, he needed to recreate himself.

Why was he in Cip-Sec instead of C-Sec? Why choose to be part of some local police instead of an illustrious security bureau in the Citadel? He was thankful now for his history with Alenko and the fact that his resignation would be somewhat known around the Citadel. The Hierarchy kept tabs on just about everyone who was formally employed. The moment he was introduced there was a round of understanding and comforting pats on the back. As long as the turians felt that it wasn't a lack of ability that got him shipped back home but rather the need to be with the familiar and safe, then Garrus was in the clear. Most of them made their own assumptions but those who asked got the same replies from Garrus: "I need to be with my family."

He also started to look for old friends. Most he had already caught up with a half-remembered past and a few jokes. One, Orion, had died in the line of duty. And though it had been a very long time since Garrus had spoken to him— he recalled his good-nature, his patience, and his confidence. He visited the altar in his family home and honored his fallen friend.

Fitting in was another problem altogether, having been tasked to some work with the other rookies and some of the friendlier vets in the squad. Garrus only half remembered their names and positions, conjuring them when need be; the same way he had survived remembering the various C-Sec officers and divisions back in the day. He attended after-work drinking sessions, 8-year-old kiddie parties, and even a Military Academy graduation for one of the higher up's kids.

"No matter how long it takes," His father had intoned. "Go with it, until they trust you enough and bring you into South Pearl."

One week became a month. Time in Cipritine was faster than it ever was in Omega. It was the bustle of progress rather than the fester of deterioration. In between sleep and work he would call and greet whoever was up in Archangel. Initially, the whole team would be there, but as days passed sometimes there would be ten of them, other times eight or six.

By the end of the second month, vid comms had mostly become automated messages of the same one liner to Sidonis: "I'm fine. Work is hard. Report?"

There was only one exception, the one constant in the team, and he blinked all four eyes at him as Garrus typed a message on his omni-tool to send a message to Sidonis. "Boss. You probably already guessed but—"

"He took them all out to stomp on the bad guys." Garrus raised his talons and tried to look as happy as he was tired. "I think I'm familiar with the routine. Nothing makes me sadder that I missed Nalah giving birth." Garrus sighed. "Anything new?"

"Grundan cried again that he's been missing these scheduled calls. When do you think you'll be back, boss?"

"As soon as I can," Garrus held back the sigh. Erash didn't seem to bother to hold back his own as he leaned his elbows against the table. "I haven't been hearing from Mel lately, even from the extranet. How is she?"

"Boss," Erash began, blinking unsynchronized, usually a sign that he was about to relay very bad news. "Mel hasn't been reporting in lately."

"What? Sidonis said they were getting along in the latest messages."

"They're getting along because they don't see each other." Erash growled. "I haven't seen her in HQ for a week and a half now."

"Any idea where she might have gone?"

Erash hummed, looking up from the monitor before looking down again. "I'll see what I can find out. Try to get the others to investigate in between Sidonis' errands." He added with a huff. "Would really like it if you got back here soon, boss. Nalah wants you to meet her cute little brat—humans boys are cute compared to their older counterparts."

"I'd jump back if I could, Erash. But there are big things here that I need to finish."

"Understood. How's Aelia?"

"Great." Garrus replied with a small chuckle at the reminder that his mother and his tech expert were on first name basis. Since their video conference, it had been hard to tell his mom to just rest instead of working on some theory that Erash and her have concocted. On goods days she'd refuse to eat or sleep—something about how tech would sustain her, anyway. He'd call her a nerd. She'd call him a brat. It was perfect.

Then there were those times in between the good days. Days when she'd momentarily forget his name, sometimes who she was—that she had kids, that she was married. Some days she'd fall into the cracks of her memories and no one was allowed in her room but the resident doctor and his father. Every time, he'd feel Solana's cold stare from across the room.

He refused to call them bad days. Bad days were when you didn't shoot your target between the eyes and grazed the side of his head instead. Bad days were when your toe got caught between the elevator doors. Days that reminded him that he'd lose his mother, days that reminded him that she might not remember him when she'd go—those days couldn't just be called bad days.

He didn't voice any of this though, instead, Garrus cleared his throat and added, "She's completely excited about that new tech you guys keep hiding every time I enter the room."

"For your own good, boss." Erash sniffed. "You'll want to get your hands on it the moment she's done. I'm sure."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Boss," Erash paused. "There was something else I wanted to discuss with you."

"What is it?"

"It's about Legacy. The real one."

"Oh." Garrus closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again and focused on the holo. "What about her?"

"That incident with Sensat. Boss, I know you know what you saw—and I should have brought it up sooner. But," Another pause. "What Legacy did was a legitimate reaction for what Sensat was planning to do—at least by asari standards, it would have been too intimate for a private person like Legacy."

Garrus rubbed his face with his hands. "I know."

Erash blinked several times in succession. "You do?"

"Erash, I think I'm observant enough to see when one of my team becomes infatuated with another person."

"Right." Erash's tone didn't give it away. It was the way his eyes rolled that showed he was counting how many times Mel's come-ons had flown right by him. How many times he didn't see Vortash and Mierin hooking up. "So, you know that Mierin was out of line too?"

"Yes, and no. The point is this: Legacy didn't bother to defend her own actions. Wouldn't a guiltless person defend themselves?"

"Would you have heard it?"

Maybe if Garrus was less tired he would have thought about that longer and would have given a more honest answer. "Of course. But she cut her own ties to us, Erash. There was no remorse there. Now," He stood from his seat and moved towards the bed. "I think it's time for me to go."

Erash didn't put up much of a fight, but the lines on his face and the distinct narrowing of his four eyes was a clear sign that he knew Garrus was planning to avoid further discussion. With a gruff goodbye, Erash switched the connection off. The first thing Garrus wanted to do was collapse on his bed and sleep his troubles away.

Instead, he reached for the drawer by his bedside where his badly wrapped Christmas present for Legacy was. He told himself to throw it away months back when he was still rampaging through Omega. He stood in front of the waste basket and glared down at it, as if a bin could grab the gift from his hand and make the decision for him.

Instead, he turned away with the gift still in his possession. Badly wrapped and fraying at the edges, he sighed at the combustible material—supposedly called faux-paper now that it had become obsolete and rare on earth (Garrus couldn't remember if turians had ever used it before, likely not). Slowly, he tore away the wrapping to reveal a necklace of twisted ovals made of Cipritine glass. The clasp was an intricate design of an old symbol— the insignia of the League of One that he remembered seeing in the tags the Commander had collected.

Spirits, he hated _this_. Partly, because he had no idea what this was at all.

He was expecting his sleep to be fitful. But turning his gaze to the chain that he had left on the table, he reached for it and wound it around his wrist before settling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

It took three months and five days since his arrival in Cipritine for him to finally be invited. There were some dangers to be had if he had ventured into South Pearl by himself, it was unusual for one, to be alone, and the worse kind of investigator was the type that stood out in a sea of indistinguishable faces. Now, he was part of the club— co-workers and supposed-friends all around him as the double doors slid open for them.

Garrus was expecting some cross between the Consort's place and Flux back when the Citadel hadn't been blown up by a giant sentient ship. Instead, he was surprised by how bright it was inside. The design was mostly old Cipritine—columns that reached and held up a high ceiling and frescoes adorned large walls of Cipritine glass. Machines to resist radiation were by all the openings to avoid more sensitive guests having to wear hard suits. Where he was expecting scantily clad females, he was instead greeted by well-dressed humans and turians—swaddled in robes of Rinka with asymmetric sleeves. For the humans, their hair was decorated with Rinka leaves of gold and sage. The subtle perfume of Frint, a popular musk since days of old, hung in the air.

"Not what you were expecting, Vakarian?" A burly turian of brown coloring and silver paint coughed beside him. He went by the name of Gregory Arren, he'd been a part of Cip-Sec for two years and was finally being moved up the ladder.

"No, sir. I was expecting something more—risqué."

Arren chuckled. "This isn't the Citadel, fortunately. We do things more tastefully here."

They began to queue in front of the receptionist, a female drell dressed in blue who smiled pleasantly at them before a turian female in yellow led them deeper inside to one of the reserved tents made of thin Rinka fabric. The woman in yellow keyed in Garrus' ID before walking away with an order of their drinks and food.

Finally, three long months and he was in. Now, it was time to observe.

There were more humans in the facility than he had come to expect, and definitely more drell than the reports had led him to believe. The place was mostly filled with tents that could accommodate a variety of 4 to 10 people inside, and it was thin enough for people to hear conversations and see vague outlines of whoever was inside and whatever it was they were doing. There were two exits other than the main door, one for emergencies next to the door that likely led to the kitchen and another by the resident chambers of the men and women who worked here.

"See anyone you like, Vakarian?"

Garrus tried to look as casual as he could while leaning against the back of the comfy couch. "It's your day, sir. I wouldn't want to steal it by cutting in line."

"Myra isn't in yet." He smiled back. "Besides, we're mostly here so that you boys can actually enjoy a good time."

"Myra?"

"The one I visit." His smile remained. "A drell. She specializes in giving massages. Not something I want to do with the men."

"Tell us it's only up to massages, boss." One of the younger men heckled and the rest around him snickered over a round of drinks and grilled meat.

"Myra is my friend." Arren answered readily. "And South Pearl isn't that sort of place. If anyone moved from friendship to a serious relationship with a client it would be because it was between two consensual adults and not because of money."

"Aw, come on, boss. Don't tell me you're that naïve." The turian quickly turned away when Arren fixed a glare and growled at him. "All right, sir. I'll stop talking."

"Good. Vakarian, tell me what you think you need and we'll get them to come over."

"Sir, not to be uh, naïve, as this guy here said—but what do we do here, exactly?"

Arren laughed behind his drink. "It depends on the _Srea_."

Garrus held himself from flinching. _Srea_. That was the old word for a partner, a mate. It was outdated now and barely used since families usually had their own way of calling their spouses. For the Vakarians, that name was _Fera_ e and he'd heard his father call his mom that a few times. For his mother's family, Lentinus, it was _Renae_ and his mother seldom called his father that—saying that the tradition was trifle and that she loved the name Titus too much to call him much else. Still, its roots in sounds had only a very loose translation in Galactic: beloved.

"Is that what they call the people who work here?"

"You'll see that most of them are true to their name."

"Right."

"Hey," One of the other grunts cut in. "Isn't that General Victus? What's he doing in a place like this?"

Garrus turned to meet the general's stately form. He had his hands folded behind his back, his foot tapping as he waited in front of one of the thicker tents.

"Don't question the motives of generals, Silaun. It will only get you into trouble."

"Well, his wife did die—"

"Silaun!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Who is he waiting for?"

The question was answered when a human's head popped out from between the tent flaps. Her fringe was long and cascaded low with brown curls. Her eyes were a blue Garrus had only imagined when he thought of what the oceans in earth might look like.

"You're early, sir." She sang, with a tilt of her head. Her face was bright with a giddy sort of excitement. General Victus only looked down at her, a severe set of his face plates would have fooled anyone into thinking he was about to face a firing squad.

"Don't dally, Allison. We're finishing this once and for all."

"You're no fun, sir." Her head disappeared through the flaps again and then her tent entrance was pulled open, and a light flickered inside so that others could see better through the Rinka cloth. A table with the asari board game, Kepesh-Yakshi, was set up between two blue couches. A crowd of employees and patrons began to flock around the tent.

"What's going on?" Arren turned to one of the passing girls, a female drell with brown and orange coloring and a red dress.

She smiled at him. "Oh, sir Arren! You haven't been around for a while. One of the new girls caught General Victus' eye about a month ago."

"He's a full-member?"

"No, sir. He was just invited by General Oraka. Then one of the new girls caught his eye. One thing led to another—now they're playing Kepesh-Yakshi. Best two out of three. The score right now is one win each."

"General Victus comes to South Pearl to play Kepesh-Yakshi?" Garrus asked. "What do you mean he isn't a full member?"

"Well, sir—" She checked her omni-tool and then smiled at him when she got his ID. "Sir Vakarian. Your initial registry here doesn't mean you're a member yet. You need to get enough votes to become a full member like sir Arren."

"Votes?"

"An initiate like yourself, sir, can only avail of a few of the amenities when you travel here alone. Sir Arren, at this moment, is footing for everything you're doing now. Potential members, or Initiates as we call them, need to visit often enough and really get to know the people here." She smiled. "If you visit often and get friendly with a few of the members, patronize our drinks and our girls—then you can get bumped into the possible candidates for full membership.

"General Victus has never been interested before—he always just came by with his other friends. But for his past three visits he's dragged General Oraka around just so he can play Kepesh-Yakshi with one of our girls."

"She's wearing blue. I thought you said she was new."

"She rose up the ranks fairly quickly."

"Ranks?" Garrus titled his head.

The drell female smiled. "The girls have ranks based on how many people asked for them. In ascending order: yellow, green, blue, red, and white. Allison is particularly popular. Just a little less than 4 months ago she was as confused as a baby klixen. If she manages to convince the General to patronize and vie for full membership—I wouldn't be surprised if we end up in the same rank."

A loud hiss rose from the table across them and Garrus turned to look. The game had started, the general and the girl—Allison—sat across each other. Garrus inhaled deeply when he realized it was the general who had lost his frigate—the girl had spilled first blood.

"That Allie—for someone so sweet you'd never think she knew such a violent game."

Arren laughed. "The general must find her to be a bit of a challenge if he deems her worthy enough to visit just for a game."

Garrus stared from his side of the table and watched in silence. There was more to this, he could feel it. The strange ranking system and members being voted in—this must be some kind of key to figuring out why all those officials disappeared.

He only half watched as the game ended with General Victus barely scraping a win. There was a round of claps from all the onlookers and congratulatory remarks all around. The new girl was reeling from the electric shock of the loss and sat with her eyes unfocused but her lips pulled upward into a smile.

Despite the buzz of excitement, the general himself looked cross; his face plates standing out in a severe way. He turned to the woman, his hands behind his back.

"Why did you give me that win, Allison?" He asked loud enough for only those near his tent, including Garrus's table, to hear.

Allison smiled up at him, leaning her head against her hand as she smiled at him. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"You had me. You held back the salarian technician gambit that would have built you a superior weapon to eat through my fleet."

She looked concerned suddenly, eyebrows furrowed. "But sir, I didn't give you that win."

"Allison—"

"Sir," She stood up, smile bright. "Did you honestly think winning Kapesh-Yakshi was the prize I was after?" That got Garrus and his entire table, to turn towards the conversation. General Oraka who had walked towards them at the end of the game from the open bar was laughing under his hand.

General Victus said nothing, he looked down and up at the ceiling. Then at the shorter, smiling woman. "I'll visit you again. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'll be waiting."

When the generals left and some peace was restored to the nearby tables, Garrus kept his eyes on the woman. She was slim, soft. Her face devoid of any tiredness or shadows, not even a sliver of it seemed to have ever crossed her mind or expressed itself in any way. As she was approached by one of the asari girls they gushed together about how well things were going, Garrus could only watch her for the rest of the night.

There was nothing similar at all. Not the height, not the smile, not the walk.

She was a complete stranger in all ways—but Garrus was sure that the girl across the room couldn't be anyone else but Shepard.

Edited 06.25.2014


	30. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happen on this chapter. :o I thought that separating them might be too much of a tease so I left it as is. Hope this chapter finds you well. Apologies for the lateness.

**Chapter 26**

Over the days he had returned to South Pearl, leaving each visit feeling more invigorated by the knowledge that if he finished this quickly then he could finally return to Archangel (even if it was only briefly). He kept up appearances and went back to talking to the girls and partaking from the bar. But every so often his eyes would catch the form of this so-called Allison.

Garrus knew it was Shepard.

She gave nothing away, really. She had assumed a character so perfect and so different from herself that he was still on the fence as to whether it was her. Allison's hair was brown and wavy, in contrast to the short, dark-red style he had last seen Shepard with. Allison smiled with all her teeth showing – the utter straightness of them, the pearl white color of it. Shepard had a soft, breathy laugh. Allison had blue-gray eyes, as opposed to Shepard's emerald ones. Allison's blinks were slower and heavier. Even the proportions of their bodies from head to toe were different; Allison had a larger bust and narrower hips, while Shepard had been a "near perfect contour of a woman" (Vor's words, not his).

Everything about Allison was not Shepard. Yet, he was sure it had to be Shepard.

"Excuse me," She looked up at him, her head tilted and her eyes wide. There were no shadows there, only a clear gaze and an open look of confusion that knitted her brows. And that was by far, the the biggest physical difference— that lack of weightiness, the lack of darkness. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He turned away quickly, fixing his gaze at the bartender. Maybe it wasn't her. No one could act so well, so completely —not with the secrets Shepard had confessed to him.

Allison bit the left side of her lower lip, another habit that Shepard didn't have. Her eyes held such an honest sheen of hurt in them that he wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her back to sanity. The Shepard he knew wouldn't be hurt by something so trivial.

Her eyes didn't linger, didn't search his face for more answers before she walked away, head held high, hips swaying from side to side.

That small interaction colored all others, afterwards.

During another session of downtime with Captain Arren, their group made up of five turians, the younger investigators had been giving appreciative looks towards Allison. Arren had conceded with a gruff and friendly laugh, to call her over to serve them drinks.

"I apologize, Al. They wouldn't stop bothering me. I know you're pretty busy."

"It's no problem, Leader." She chirped, a cheerful sound to accompany the clumsy clatter of the pitcher and glass. The contents of which tipped so near the edge that one of the investigators had to reach forward to help her pour. She sent him a good natured smile. "My usual won't be arriving today."

"Have the two of you progressed so far as to exchange interesting nicknames?" Arren's usual _Srea_ , Myra, glared playfully between the two of them. Her drell sub-vocals said otherwise. "Spend a lot of time together in my absence?"

Expecting a more competitive response accompanied by some wry humor, Garrus was instead surprised by how big and round Allison's eyes became. "You shouldn't be worried about me and Leader, Myra. When we're together we only talk about yo—"

"Don't they have rules here about privacy or secrecy or something?" Arren coughed loudly as Myra smiled and reached for the back of his neck, then his fringe.

As the drinks were poured and sort of poured (wiped off the tables more like), there were a few rounds of laughter and the trading of jokes. Then at some point, Garrus realized that everyone was holding a glass of alcohol but him. He stared down at the table in front of him, wondering if he had missed it while the pitcher was being passed around but his glass had indeed remained unfilled.

Arren, noticing the direction of Garrus stare, cleared his throat. "Al."

"Yes, Leader?"

"Where's Garrus drink?"

There was a distant pop of champagne and a round of laughter from a few tables down. "Hm. Whose?"

"Vakarian here." Arren motioned at Garrus beside him.

"Huh?" She tilted her head. "Didn't I give everyone one?"

"That's all right. Mind passing me the pitcher, Allison?"

She stared at the pitcher for longer than usual then looked at him with round eyes and bit her lip.

"Allison!" The bartender hollered. "Doorman says General Victus is here!"

Allison shot up like a bullet, nearly tripped and had to lean on one of the nearby investigators whose back straightened at the touch. "He isn't supposed to be in today! Sal, stall him!"

"I'm a bartender, not a bouncer!"

Allie excused herself before bounding down the hall and into the backroom, nearly tripping on her long blue skirt and slamming against the doorframe in her rush. That elicited a few good natured laughs from around the room.

"Huh. That was weird," Myra voiced after a shake of her head. "The girl is usually so attentive when it comes to customers."

"Well, she is pretty scatter-brained, Myra." Arren added.

Myra shrugged. "Not when it comes to this. I apologize, sir. Let me pour you that glass."

"It's all right, Myra." Garrus motioned for an investigator to pass him the pitcher. "It happens."

* * *

"It doesn't just happen." Nalah said through the vid comm. A 2-week old baby with a thin dark fringe and tan skin was fast asleep in her arms. Nalah had insisted the child be named Garrus, Butler was inclined to agree until Vortash pointed out that it sounded like Nalah was having an affair with the boss.

Nalah blushed at that while Butler—caught between a rock and a hard place—flipped mental tables.

They settled instead with Garret, whose nickname was Garr and subsequently bore a close enough resemblance to Garrus's name but not enough to upset Butler. Now, as everyone was unavailable, Nalah jumped at the chance for them to catch up alone, much to the husband's bitterness.

"I know. But what was I supposed to do, Nalah? How does this — human female damage control thing go?"

Garrus had given her the barest facts about Allison without compromising the mission. For what seemed like a clumsy and very nice lady, Allison was indeed a very clumsy and very nice lady who just didn't like Garrus. He'd had several strange run-ins: usually he was forgotten when being served drinks or he was charged extra for things he didn't even buy.

"What did you do to her, boss?"

"I have no clue. I'm likable enough." He leaned back comfortably against the headrest of his bed.

Nalah stared at him. "You're conceited."

"What?"

"She probably hates you because you're full of yourself."

"I was only saying the truth!"

"Just let me put down my baby. Send your holo over. I'm going to smack you in the face."

"I don't see how this affected her so much."

Nalah looked down at Garret, his little eyes opening slowly. Garrus smiled at the sight. "Boss, think about it this way. As a woman, you're probably just not her type."

"How is that possible? I'm everyone's type."

This time, Nalah actually put Garret down and demanded that he return to Omega so she could smack him.

* * *

Unfortunately, at present, the fact that he was not Allison's type was getting in the way of his candidacy.

"She was adamant that it's too soon for you to be nominated." Myra said over pouring some alcohol into his glass. All the other girls seemed to be avoiding him other than her. "And she has quite the cult following, if you've noticed."

Garrus growled under his breath. At this point, he was entirely unsure as to whether or not it was really Legacy under there. Not a single quirk of hers had cracked through the surface. Not even the tone of her voice was similar, and he was sensitive to those as any turian was. "What exactly made her so popular anyway?"

"They say talking to her is— therapeutic." Myra refilled the turian draft beer. Garrus nodded his thanks. "Even some of the employees here see her. She has a way with the lack of words, the spoken words, and songs too. She sung us beautiful hymns." Myra smiled to herself, leaning her chin against her hand. "She's born with the potential. But management helps with the nurturing of these gifts. Especially people like Al, who sell well. Hard to get close outside of work hours, though. Not with the guard varren."

He stored those mentioned gifts and the involvement of management away mentally and replied quickly, "Guard varren?"

"See that cute drell near the entrance?" She motioned subtly at the drell. His tan scales stood out in the white and blue lights. Garrus felt a chill go up his spine for not realizing he was there before. "Slippery devil. They came here as a pair from Kahje. Siblings, of a sort—the details escape me. He can't speak. Allie does all the talking for him."

"Huh." Garrus watched from behind his glass. The drell had everything Allison lacked— an efficient stride, shadows about the eyes, and anonymity. If Garrus had been wearing his visor maybe he would have gotten some of his vitals to tell him more. Unfortunately, wearing it during down time seemed highly suspicious especially in a place like Cipritine. If Garrus had a choice, he probably would never take it off except in the shower. "What's his name?"

"Allie calls him Hatty. Hah, don't give me that look — we all doubt that's his real name. He just lets her call him that." Myra took a sip of her own drink and smiled. "He usually reminds her to do things—she really is a little bit of an airhead, that girl."

At the moment, Allison was in deep conversation with an initiate. Behind her Hatty stood, waiting for a moment before he reached out his hand to tap her on the shoulder—

Allison caught his hand, gently, before she looked behind him and smiled.

That sight had Garrus turning quickly back to his drink. He felt as if he was spying on an intimate moment, even if right then he couldn't explain his increased heart rate and reached for the chain around his neck.

"Dad, this isn't—"

"Palaven is counting on you, on us. If we don't find out what is going on, a lot of people could be at risk."

"The other task forces—"

"Have either been disassembled for not reaching this far or have disappeared. Frankly, there are only about a handful left searching for leads. Garrus, I know you're close to the truth. You can smell it too, can't you?"

"Yeah, but—Dad, there was so much that I left behind."

Titus sighed, leaning back against his seat. "I understand, son. But what would your mother think if you left now, right when she's doing so well, to jump into danger? She could regress. If you don't want to stay for Palaven, then stay for her."

Garrus didn't dare voice out the fact that he had missed Nalah giving birth. Didn't dare give words on the subject of Butler becoming a father to a baby boy, on Sidonis accomplishments as leader, on Mel's resignation and disappearance, on Erash being more antsy than usual about everything. Leave and Garrus would probably never see his mother again, stay and maybe his place back home — Archangel— Omega would be gone. Black and white.

"In other news, another member is being added into our team tomorrow."

Garrus looked up from staring at his talons. "What's his name?"

"Orion. He was part of the Filines family but he was disowned."

"Wait, Orion is—"

"He had held another name before he picked up the name he has now. Formerly known as Ferus. Orion, the one you knew as a child, was his younger brother. Did you ever meet the older one?"

Garrus sifted through his brain for memories or any mentions of a brother but drew a blank. He shook his head. "He didn't like to talk about his family."

"Hm, well. His team was disbanded. One of them disappeared mid-investigation and it was their infiltrator, of all people. He has requested to move into our team."

"Specifically our team? The higher ups forced you to this?"

His father gave him a pinched look, one that read that he barely liked this situation himself. "We'll be meeting him tomorrow. Let's go over the information we'll be sharing."

After sorting a few more details, Garrus left his father's study to have dinner. As he entered the room, Solana glared at him from across the dining table. The house was quiet save for the two of them, his father had asked that his food be sent to his study so he could look through the data. "You look like you're having fun."

"Not really, Sol." He answered blandly.

"Itching to go back to — your 'job'?" Garrus hadn't realized how infuriating air quotes were until then.

"Leave it, Sol."

She clicked her mandibles together. Garrus hadn't the capacity nor the patience to deal with her. He had wanted to make things right but if he were to tell Sol about Omega—she'd worry herself sick. His mom had been especially forgiving but if he announced he would return there, would she really let him now that she knew everything?

He stood from the table, his meal half done, and cleared his dishes before heading to his own room. His talons reached for the necklace around his throat. His grip on it loosened only slightly when he fell into dreams.

His father didn't have to fill in any of the blanks really. Meeting this older brother was enough to answer all of Garrus' questions.

Garrus looked at him, tried to recognize him. He tried to link this turian, with his plates, black as coal, and the elegant tracings of red colony marks running down the side of his face and nose to the image he remembered from his childhood.

It wasn't Orion, as he claimed to be. And Garrus wondered at the back of his mind if this was the punishment he had to face for not keeping in touch. To meet instead some kind of imposter. And try as he might, he couldn't damper the feelings of regret that arose when he hadn't been able to go to Orion's— the first and original Orion's— funeral.

"Garrus, this is Lieutenant Orion. Lieutenant, my son, Garrus."

Garrus assessed the situation further, taking a sip of the water he had at hand. This Orion had enough influence to request joining a team and this one at that? From the look on his dad's face yesterday, it seemed like he had been persuaded by some rather high ranking officials.

Spirits, the more he knew about this guy the less he liked him.

"All right. Let's begin?" Orion waited for both of their nods before clearing his throat." Before we start sharing Intel, we need to find some way to link us together at the bar and not be suspicious about it." Orion said with a lilt to his voice that was different from Garrus' childhood as well.

"What do you mean? Isn't it better if they think we don't know each other at all?"

Orion snorted through his nose. "That's what my old team tried to do a few months back. Then they were caught talking and now they're gone. No, we need to make it seem natural, kid."

"Kid? Who are you calling—"

"There is some merit to knowing each other—and not being friends. In fact, it might be good if one draws all the attention to him while the other investigates in silence." Titus argued.

"Ah, I guess that's a better way to look at it." Orion agreed with little resistance. Garrus growled under his breath.

"The two of you can deal with that later. Right now, we need to get on the same page." Titus opened up a holo from his omni-tool. "This is what we've collected so far."

Orion quickly scanned through it. "Huh. Not bad for something collated by a kid."

Garru might have cocked his gun at that moment but his dad remained cool as if he heard nothing. "Any holes you want to fill?"

"There is one." He pointed at a picture. "This new girl."

Garrus heart rate sped up. The girl he pointed to was Allison, the girl he suspected to be Shepard. Which in itself was a theory that was crazy and unfounded and completely impossible. "What about her?"

"This Allison is interesting." Orion integrated what he knew about South Pearl into the files that were presented. "I'll give you both time to sort through my information but the bottom line is this: Among all of the newbies, she's managed to attain a fairly high status in a very short amount of time. She's becoming increasingly close to one of the generals, Victus. Likely, she's been tasked to find a full time member to join South Pearl."

"Tasked?" Titus asked.

"Yes, based on the Intel collated from my former team— some girls are tasked to lure particular members into staying at South Pearl. The money they get from Initiates is enough to sustain a Batarian city. They don't need full members to patronize them to keep standing. So why do they keep doing it? What do the employees get out of luring big fish in?"

"You're saying it can't just be money and a higher rank?" Tyrus leaned on his elbows, lacing his talons together.

"There has to be something more than getting a higher rank. There have been some hushed up stories of employees disappearing as well." He pressed a few buttons on his omni-tool. "We've done the mapping and the research. The _Srae_ who've disappeared are linked to the members who have vanished as well. It can't be just a terrible coincidence."

"If getting someone to full membership can lead to a disappearance, then why would a _Srae_ risk it?" Titus asked, looking at the young members of his team. "What else has been observed about the _Srae_ who've remained?"

Garrus had to admit that working with his father was like watching a puzzle fix itself. Orion noticed this too as his eyes lit up and the movements of his hands as he spoke became more animated. "They've reached white status, the highest one."

"Not all those who disappeared have been made full members." Garrus interjected. Thinking hard on it, a chill ran up his spine at how wrong everything seemed. "And not all full members disappear. We could be looking at a conspiracy; people who succeed, benefit, and those who fail, fall."

"True, kid Vakarian— we have to look at this from a different angle. What does it mean to succeed? What does it mean to fail? The only way to really find out what is going on is this— one of us has to reach full membership." He pointed at Allison. "And I think she could be our ticket inside."

"Why her?" Garrus asked. He didn't dare to voice out his own suspicions about her.

Orion's eyes had a feral glint to it. "Call it a hunch."

Edited 06.22.2014


	31. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things will finally pick up from here (plot/story-wise). I have to say, I'm really excited to see what you think. Thank you readers/reviewers/lurkers. If you'd like to share anything, leave me a word, yeah? I'd really like to see that review tick go up soon.
> 
> This is to make up for the ultra late chapter, the fact that we are approaching holidays, and just because one chapter after and another (until we hit 30?) will be-- cliffhangers. HAHA.
> 
> Nonetheless, hope this chapter finds you well. Happy Halloween and All Saints Day in advance!

**Chapter 27**

The plan was simple, one would act as diversion and the other would investigate. Garrus had no qualms about being in the backdrop in this case, what with his standing in South Pearl being rather sour, it was probably better that Orion be in the spotlight. Besides, Garrus had been part of C-Sec, looking into things and poking around was one of his stronger suits.

The bastard, however, didn't have to be so smug about it.

"It's customary for our candidates to get to know each other." Myra smiled, her white pleated dress a stark contrast to her skin.

"Although the involvement of some is questionable." Orion looked at him over the top of his nose. Garrus shifted his gaze to look at Allison, who seemed almost pleased by the harsh treatment that was being dealt to him. "I'm Orion."

"Garrus Vakarian." They grasped each other's forearms. Orion's grip on his had more bite to it than ever before. Garrus leered internally; he may as well play up to whatever Allison thought of him. "And what's your last name?"

"I have no family. No need of one. That's what the Meritocracy is about. I don't need names to hide behind." There was a hiss to Orion's subvocals. Garrus wouldn't be surprised if the venom in them was actually real. Garrus had always known that his childhood friend's family was pretty rough—Orion, the original Orion, never liked to bring it up or discuss it. It was the reason why Garrus had never heard of the older brother.

The show of rivalry worked out well. Whoever was on Allison's side of the fence had jumped on Orion like he was Danrelle meat. Garrus instead spoke to those who were willing to speak to him. However, his goal was mostly to observe—people gave away information all the time, especially when they thought no one was watching.

That was also why, when General Victus walked into South Pearl, he needed to score a seat close by. Close enough to eavesdrop properly but far enough that he wouldn't arouse suspicion. Garrus ordered himself a drink and sank into a conversation with Sal, the bartender. Allison ushered the general into the tent, their figures obscured by the textured cloth as they sat across each other. The sight of the general walking into a Recreational Facility like South Pearl to play parlor games was amusing. The man in question seemed to take up the task with as much dignity as he did walking into the battlefield.

"What game are we playing today, Victus?" It was a casual and impertinent way to refer to someone as respected as the general. Every turian nearby who heard that would have easily punched the sense out of any low ranking turian. From Allison, however, it seemed almost like a cute faux paux—it wasn't likely that she knew these nuances and people easily forgave the girl's faults.

"I enjoyed chess. What's our score on that one?"

"Draw. One all."

"Best two of three?"

"Of course, Victus." She pressed a few buttons on her omni-tool and conjured the holographic board. "You're white. You move first."

A few minutes of silence and there was only the sound of the pieces moving on the board, then Victus spoke. "Why does the white piece move first?"

"Hm, I don't know to be honest." She moved her black pawn forward. "It's been that way for a long time, longer than most humans care to know."

"Does making the first move give you an advantage?"

"It does but not by much." She laughed a little when he hungrily ate one of her pawns. She retaliated by eating his knight with her bishop. "Ultimately, it's experience and skill that will decide the outcome of a match."

"Do you think you have the experience and skill to go up against any opponent? Even if they play white?"

"You'd be surprised, Victus." She smiled. "I've been playing chess for a long time. Though," She pointed at one of the tall holographic pieces. "On the board, there are pieces you want to get rid of as quickly as possible—whether or not your opponent is a rookie or not."

"Such as?"

"The queen can be tricky. And the knights are hard to predict." At that point Victus ate one of her knight pieces. "Though it's terrible when your opponent takes yours away. I like my knights."

"Do you play chess with your colleagues?"

"Those who know how, yeah."

"Anyone who plays well?"

She smiled. "You're going to replace me, Victus?"

"Well—"

"Hmph. No one is really on my level, you know. Hatty and I grew up playing these games. We take them seriously." She ate one of his other pawns. "But there are those that show promise. I'd watch out for them."

"Who?"

Garrus almost broke a few glasses when a girl excused herself and butted into the tent. Fortunately, the conversation didn't hang, rather, Victus' eyes didn't leave Allison's as the girl handed them their ordered drinks and food. As the waitress reached for the last cup, her hand completely missed it and she pushed it out of the tray instead—

Effortlessly, Allison caught it. And though it was brief, there was that look in her eyes — the hint of a sharp green behind the glassy grey color of her eyes before she made a show of the glass slipping out of her grasp again, spilling the content onto her own lap and dress.

Victus laughed while Allison looked plain embarrassed as she tried to wipe it down but got it everywhere instead. Finally, she excused herself and left for the backdoor.

But Garrus saw and his senses tingled. There could be any number of reasons why she managed to do that. Anyone could have been fast enough to reach that glass in time, right? In his gut he felt uneasy about being certain of the fact that it might be Shepard and what it would imply if it really was.

Why was she here? Why was she working for South Pearl? Why was she pretending not to know him? Why was she pretending to be someone else? Bottom line, there wasn't enough motivation for her to be here, he remembered what she said—her eyes had no mirth and no anger, one finger raised as she counted: "I'm only motivated by two things."

I know, he thought as he took a few gulps of his drink. And that's why this is so damn confusing.

No, he told himself. It's too early to conclude. Not yet. Now wasn't the time to think about whether or not Allison was Shepard.

As he straightened his back and asked for another drink from Sal, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling settling all around him that this was bigger than what Palaven was prepared for.

* * *

"I don't understand him."

Garrus reached for the door panel of his mother's room before he heard Sol's voice. Her subtones had inflections of agitation and anger.

"I don't get why he's here. And I don't know why I'm so angry at him for it."

There was rustling from within the room. His mother cleared her throat. "Didn't you want him here, Sol?"

"I know but—" His sister huffed. "Mom, he only came when I said dad needed some help with something. _I_ was supposed to be the one to help dad. And I know I could. But because of—" There was an odd pause, and even Garrus had to close eyes and will himself not to complete that sentence.

His mother did though and she did that little intake of breath she did when you just broke her heart into tiny little pieces. He heard it in her voice when he tripped and he broke his shoulder during training (he was only 13 then and he had stopped himself from shedding those tears) and when he left to go to C-Sec (against his will, no matter how much she had stood behind him regarding his dream of pursuing Spectre status).

"Solana," His mother spoke so quietly that he had to strain himself to hear her through the door. "I'm sorry."

"No, mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—it's not your fault."

His mother didn't say anything for a long while. There was a lot of odd rustling. Garrus could imagine his sister shuffling and squirming, his mother probably turned away from her. He'd always been around when she and his father had gotten into fights. He watch her from behind as she wept, seated in front of her work table, furiously occupied with some project, even when the quiver of her talons would have made the work twice as hard.

"I met one of your brother's friends." His mother suddenly said, her voice completely devoid of any emotional weaknesses. It made him tense. He could only imagine what Sol was feeling now. "A batarian savant."

"A batarian?" Sol's surprise was a high pitched reply. "There are definitely batarian engineers but you don't expect them to be—well, like you mom."

"Thank you, dear." He could hear the gentle smile in her subtones. "But he's really incredible—and more than the labels we've placed on his species. Your brother has really surrounded himself with fine people. I'm envious of this batarian's—Erash, his name— I don't think I could ever attain the same level of ingenuity."

"Don't be silly, mom. You've made a lot of breakthroughs in tech. More than any asari has seen in half their lifespan."

"Only because I'm turian—and we're visible and among the Council races—now, all I could think of is if the batarians had been given the chance to be part of the Council instead of the turians, then how different would life be now? Would Erash be the brain behind the Rever—the Normandy? Would he have been able to live a better and more comfortable life? And what about us?

"How different are we from the other side of the galaxy? Perhaps not as different as the media likes to portray us. And I know your brother sees this clearly. Don't you want to believe your brother is doing good work—whether he chooses to discuss it or not?"

There was a distinct growl. "It's always about Garrus."

"It's only ever about your brother because you made it so." His mother subtones had inflections of amusement. His mother had always been the type to watch the two of them fight while she watched, curious and silent. He always thought that it was because her nature as a savant made it difficult for her to understand that this was something she should interfere in before it escalated. But now that Garrus thought about it, perhaps his mother was confident they could resolve their issues. It was only until they voiced them out to her personally would she decide to give input—as minimal as that was.

His sister sounded considerably calmer afterward, they talked a little bit about things going on around the house, the garden his mother used to tend to but had now become his sister's responsibility—as his sister excused herself he hid behind one of the pillars and allowed her to pass without her noticing him.

He'd go up to her personally, one day. Tell her everything. But for now, she needed to concentrate on mom. She didn't need any more worries than what she already had to deal with.

He entered his mother's room when he was sure Solana had gone back to her own quarters. The set of her face plates were somber if not a little hurt. He knew he shouldn't have told her, no matter her insistence.

"Mom," He walked up to her and reached out to hold her hand.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Garrus?"

"For always hurting you."

She opened her mouth, likely to argue, but then she closed it again with a click of her mandibles. "Then, I'm sorry too."

He tilted his head. "For what?"

"For always holding you back."

His grip on her hand tightened. He wanted to say that wasn't true.

Instead, he sat beside her in silence, holding her hand—refusing to let go even as she eventually fell asleep.

* * *

"Boss, there's something going on."

Erash was meticulous by nature. For all of his complaints, Garrus attributed about 60% to his pickiness—the batarian had admitted as much when he had finally conceded and joined Archangel. His reason for doing so had been because Garrus was agreeable and that he would rather not work for a snotty volus whom he regarded as inferior in intelligence and character.

This time, however, was different. It was evident in Erash's fidgety fingers, in his constantly blinking and in the way he bore his teeth. This wasn't just some itch; it was all of Erash's gut instinct revealing itself through his body language—enough that Garrus believed there was something very, very wrong.

"What do you mean?"

"Sidonis told us not to tell you—said it was a small thing— but I think there's something more to it."

Garrus narrowed his eyes. Sidonis had become lax on the daily reports lately. "Why?"

"I told you about Mel moving to the Talons, right boss? She's been doing good work there—whipping them into shape. They're organized too."

Garrus couldn't help the pleased hum at the news. "Like a true turian legion. I've gotten a few messages from Mel myself. Said we should organize a Merc Decimation Excursion when I got back."

"Mm. But I don't think Sidonis agrees with it. Said he found evidence that the Talons have been doing dirty dealings behind our back and we should confront her—violence being an option." Erash's eyes flitted across the screen. "And I think Mel has caught whiff of it. Somebody from Archangel must have tipped her off and the whole misunderstanding just might escalate. Boss, I don't think this will end well."

Garrus had this same foreboding feeling before, nearly two years ago when he watched the Commander board that ship again after shore leave in the Citadel. At that time Garrus had debated taking leave from Spectre training but Commander Alenko had convinced him against it.

Next thing he knew, Alenko was reported dead.

Just then his omni-tool rang and he cursed—it was a tone designated for messages from the task force. Orion had sent him only one line: "It's starting. Head to South Pearl."

"Boss?"

Garrus clenched and unclenched his talons. The choice was black and white.

"Erash, if I could be at two places at once—you know I would, right?"

Erash nodded slowly.

"I'm leaving this to your discretion, Erash. I would really rather we discuss the details—form a plan of action—"

"Archangel style."

The batarian didn't grin, but Garrus heard the livelier tone in his voice. Garrus chuckled. "Definitely. I'm leaving this to your discretion. Do what you think I'd do—only better. You understand, Erash?"

"Of course, boss. Only the best."

"Yes," Garrus rose from his seat. "Only the best. Keep everyone safe."

"I know, boss."

"Good. Garrus out."

Edited 06.22.2014


	32. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter finds you well.

**Chapter 28**

Garrus told himself to concentrate on the mission. Nevermind Omega for the next couple of hours—concentrate only on this mission so that home will be a few days closer.

"You'll probably not have another opportunity like this. Just be careful, son."

Garrus could only nod gravely at his father's parting words as he headed to Renaudi, and then to South Pearl. It was a few hours into the night cycle and South Pearl was having an event outside the establishment for the new members that most of the girls attended, along with the security team.

Which meant, of course, that South Pearl would let its guard down for the first time. With Orion at the event, it was up to Garrus to sneak into the deeper parts of the establishment and get out unscathed., He'd been in stealth missions before, though, admittedly, it was back when he was still in the military. And those were more of the get-in-undetected-and-kill-anyone-who-finds-out type of missions. He doubted the same tactic could be applied if he was caught.

The problem was Garrus was never really the stealthy or subtle type. But what he couldn't do he made up with a little bit of his mother's ingenuity and the luck of a Spirit that could spare some.

He entered through the backdoor using Krul's tech on the camera, revamped with some added juice, a larger radius, and modded into his visor, something he hadn't properly worn since he arrived on Palaven. He relied on it now to show him the layout of the place and the positions of the cameras (both hidden and not hidden). The problem now was that if anyone got a visual he'd be screwed.

Luckily, everyone seemed to be in the main hall since Garrus was able to slip through undetected, hacking through a door that Tali could blink through with so much ease that it would have made his mother proud.

The owner of South Pearl, according to Intel, was a turian who went by the name Dreggs. Apparently, only the older staff and those who wore white knew the owner's face. He barely came into the establishment, only meeting with the oldest and most loyal of VVIP clients. Otherwise, South Pearl was run by a General Manager, Penny, a human. She was another illusive figure who stayed mostly in the office and only emerged from the establishment for important meetings and big events like today.

He left a bug on the door that would alert him if anyone was coming too close before he shut the door and made a mental note of the room's layout all the while eyeing the private terminal.

For someone rumored to be particularly fussy about details and security, hacking into the manager's terminal was easy. He burned through the firewalls and all the other security features to unmask exactly what he was looking for.

It wasn't explicit. Nothing ever was for these bastards. But some consistency gave things away. For example, when a person logged the same name too many times in too many conversations—code or not—it was at least proof that the establishment was hiding some dirt. He sifted through the information quickly, taking in most of it and analyzing them simultaneously.

Extracting the information without leaving any traces— now that was the tricky part. But Garrus was ready, activating his own firewalls—a program he had designed because Legacy kept extracting his private address somehow—he used it to save whatever was on the terminal while not leaving a single trace. He returned everything the way he found it—the angle of the chair, even rebooted the cameras and mics and hacked some fake footage in there so the time lag wouldn't be too obvious.

"Fuck, of all the days to forget something."

A voice echoed through his comm—too close for comfort. The sound of clicking heels moved rapidly towards his location. Holding his breath, he popped open the ventilation shaft and snapped it in place softly as he tried to worm his way backwards, ensuring he was far enough from the opening that Penny wouldn't be able to look up and see him.

Garrus held his breath as she moved through her office, grabbing a datapad that he hadn't had the time to sift through yet before she slid out the door again.

He counted to thirty, holding his breath, before he crawled out of his hiding spot. He quickly went about downloading the data from the pads. He had already spent more time than he had accounted for courtesy of Penny's unexpected return. Every second from then on was a risk.

He retrieved the bug from the door and noted the position of every camera before moving again. He made his way to the back door and touched it—

Locked. Locked from the inside.

"Spirits." He attempted to hack through it but there wasn't enough time between camera intervals and he couldn't use the tech again without alerting the guards. This wasn't in the Intel reports. Why were the workers locked inside? To keep them from escaping?

Garrus shivered at the thought. He hadn't seen that information when he was sifting through the files. He'd have to add this to his report later but getting out was the priority. Ducking into a hallway with a four second blind spot on the camera, he reassessed his path to escape undetected. The only way out of here now was through the employee entrance and into the main hall. He could blend in with the rest of the clientele assuming no one noticed that he came from back here.

That meant passing through Penny's office again, the choke point, and a lot of damn (and dumb) luck to remain unseen. He didn't have much choice on the former and the latter was asking the Spirits to intervene, just this once, because hell Garrus Vakarian has never had much luck from the get-go.

He made his way back quickly, sliding at the last corner past a turning camera and into the next hallway. He rolled into the next hall, hiding behind a few boxes—waiting for the right timing to run across and make it to the exit while the camera was looking away.

"You'd think that with the big event we'd have less customers." Two pairs of approaching footsteps were on their way towards his location from behind. He cussed and looked forward as the bartender entered as well. Garrus had positioned himself at both their choke points. His only hope was to run to this east corridor instead of north towards the exit. But there was too much of an opening that if he crossed then the bartender would see him and if he stayed then the two women making their way towards him would see him as well.

Three seconds. Spirits, somebody give him three seconds of invisibility or some kind of distraction.

"Run."

A hand on his shoulder. He counted five fingers finger as they slid lower and tightened their grip on his forearm, pulling him to the direction of safety. He knew that voice anywhere.

He turned around, saw nothing, as he sensed his omni-tool being reconfigured as the orange interface came up and activated—he felt the tech cloak him before he made a mad dash into the east hallway. The weight of a hand still lingered on his arm as it pulled him into a room, the door sliding shut as he watched the bartender across the hall, passing his old cover.

Fading, the tactical cloaks wore off and the light automatically identified people and flickered on in the tiny storage room—just enough room that there was half an arm's length of space between them. Just enough space that when he turned to face her he wouldn't have to bump into her shoulder.

Grey blue eyes stared back at him. Dark brown hair curled and touched her bare shoulders. Her lightly tanned skin went nicely with her blue dress. Standing, her shoulder slumped forward a little.

Everything about her was different. Spirits, he had always known even if all the evidence said otherwise but Allison wouldn't save him, let alone know how to use a tactical cloak.

A million questions ran through his head: What are you doing here? How did you know I was here? Were you with me this whole time? Where were you before now? Why didn't you ever tell me where you went?

Why didn't you ever call to say hello? Why did you leave without saying goodbye? Why did you save me? Why did you save me? Why did you save me?

"I know it's you."

She turned away, bringing up her omni-tool and a holo that had the time of the cameras ticked in and visuals to track if anyone was coming up from either hallways. Another pair of girls were making their way towards the entrance. "I'll give you a window. Five seconds from your cover to make sure you get out the door and blend with a crowd. We'll have to wait for these two to pass."

Allison's face and stance stood in front of him but not her voice.

"Allison."

"Judging by their pace: 37 seconds till they're gone."

"Rachel."

"Now, 24."

"Legacy."

"20."

He reached for her forearm, bringing down the holo and the omni-tool. Never mind the ticks, never mind the mission. His heart was racing, the blood in his veins howled and he felt the pulse through his hands, drumming against her softer, colder flesh.

"Shepard."

Her expression froze, her fingers twitched. She looked up slowly to meet his eyes.

"Shepard."

"It's not safe to talk here."

"Do you even really want to talk? Don't try—"

"Vakarian, I know you're a bad turian but this isn't the time." She stepped forward and the door opened. "I gave you my tactical cloak program. Activate it after the count of 10. Judging by your pace, you'll get out of here in time before the next camera tick. If you can move faster, even better. Be mindful of your footsteps."

"Shepard."

"Remember the mission." Allison's voice said with a smile. "I'm going ahead."

"Wait."

There was no sign of hesitation as she slipped passed the door and closed it behind her.

Edited 06.22.2014


	33. Interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review. :)
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well

**Interlude IV: Nalah the Knowledge Keeper**

When Legacy left Omega, a datapad had been mailed to Eden Blue. It had come in a box, secured by a red ribbon—and tied, in a particular and peculiar way. It was a familiar knot that meant it had come from a member within the gang she was part of. Nalah's skin crawled when she remembered those old days.

Nalah had been dreading it for months, hiding the box in the kitchen safe where Fredric barely looked. Now, she was a little less than a month due to give birth, she wouldn't be able to handle the stress of not knowing what was inside it and from whom it was really from.

After opening it, she stared at a datapad—at the very simple extranet address. And a name she remembered from when she was 13 years old— when Nalah was wild, ambitious, free.

Nalah smiled. And then, she laughed.

* * *

"I don't get it."

Nalah looked back at her husband. He had that 'I've been thinking for a long damn time and now my head hurts—fix it' face. Coffee press in one hand, she poured herself a second cup and put the press down, easing herself on the chair. The baby was already six months and Nalah had gotten big enough that everything had to be done with more than the usual delicacy.

"What don't you get, dear?"

"We both know that the boss and Legacy had a thing."

"Real Legacy?"

"No other worth talking about."

She chuckled. "Everyone really hates the new one, huh?"

"And everyone else is in between about the old one." He scratched the back of his head. "But I'll be honest with you Nalah, I like Legacy. She was fun and smart and just—human. Real."

Nalah blinked at him several times. "She seemed rather secretive, from what the boss tells me—or complains about. Used to, anyway."

"The boss is dense. And turian." He paused. "Wait, you guys talk behind my back?"

"Ahem. Anyway, you were saying?"

She smiled when he glared through his sip of coffee. "Anyway, no. Legacy—she's never been anything but real to all of us. And she knows what Archangel means to the boss. She wouldn't just—do anything until she was provoked."

"But the boss saw it himself—"

"He did. But how did it really go down? Was it something Sensat said? Something she did? These aliens—as much as I love 'em there are just things that don't come across to other races so easily." He paused. "And why would the boss choose us over her?"

"Why wouldn't he choose Archangel over Legacy?"

He looked at her as if she had said that she was about to give birth to a noodle. She nearly laughed but she held it in when he threw his hands up. "You didn't see the way he turned to her. The way they talked when the whole base was asleep."

"You underestimate the boss' loyalty to you."

"But it was like asking me to choose between Archangel and you." He reached for her hands. "You were one of the instigators of their—thing. Don't you think he could have struggle with it more? Thought about it more?"

Nalah looked at her husband for a while, returning his hold on her hands with her own. There was barely a day when Garrus didn't drop by Eden Blue, staring across at the empty seat in front of him—poking at the cookies on the plate and ordering another cup of coffee for a phantom. He'd have a box, a small one, wrapped and crumpled in his hands. Nalah would sit across him, her brow furrowed, and she'd reach for his three-fingered hands.

"You look like someone died." She said, jokingly, but it didn't make the boss smile.

"I hate this," He confessed. "How she forced me to make that decision. How she knew that I would choose Archangel. Aria is right. I played right into it and she cut herself off — tried to make me hate her, make me loathe her."

"And I try, I do- but I can't. Because now, now as I recall everything— when I re-watch the film Erash gave me— all I feel is guilt."

Nalah swallowed. "Boss, what did you see?"

"Nalah."

She returned to the present at the sound of her husband's voice. The warmth of his hands resting on her own. "Are you okay?"

She smiled, "I'm fine, dear. I'm fine."

* * *

She knew the boss wasn't entirely aware of what he was really feeling. He'd dwell on it enough to call it other names: loyalty, affinity, respect. But clearly, he didn't know that what he was feeling was all of these and yet none of them. On the other hand, the lines were clearly defined when it came to Archangel. There was commitment there— not to mention justice, integrity, and purpose. All the things the boss seemed to have lost when he was working in the Citadel as a C-Sec dog (supposedly, Nalah had her doubts that that was all).

Fight for the unknown or defend the clear ties. Black and white. The boss was a simple person— he tended to the extremes and never compromised for whatever reason. Nalah liked that about the boss.

It barely rained in Omega but today it did. The smog filled streets became shrouded in a thick layer of water and dirt. The space station drowned in the rain— incomprehensible, considering that Omega atmo shouldn't even be able to understand changes in weather. As Eden Blue was about to close, Nalah expected the boss to come in for his daily fix but someone else walked in instead.

It was Sensat. Nalah barely had any personal interactions with the centuries old asari but she knew Sensat was a nice person— at least, everyone said so. But she was also a major player in the mess with Legacy and since then Nalah had kept her guard up.

"Sensat, how are you doing? How can I help you?"

The asari's armor was drenched from the rain, her blue skin covered in dirty water. She looked as if she had drowned in the city. Nalah ushered her into one of the warmer corners of Eden Blue, pulled out towels and a clean hoodie for her to change into while her undersuit was in the dryer. Nalah made sure that the sign had been changed from "open" to "closed" before she sat down across the asari.

Sensat's hands shook and her voice quivered. "Is it okay if I just talked? And— you listen, Nalah? Butler says you're a good listener. Is that okay?"

"Of course." Nalah said, readily. Pouring more coffee into Sensat's cup and pushing the steamed milk closer to that asari's trembling hands. "Anything for Archangel."

Sensat nodded. She drained her coffee and poured herself another cup.

"I was—shopping." Sensat said after a long silence and another half cup of java later. "I was shopping and then I turned to ask Legacy a question — but she wasn't there."

Nalah frowned. She barely understood why the team spoke about Legacy as if she died but she nodded anyway.

"It was wrong of me to push the boss to befriend her when I harbored deep feelings for her. From the moment I was introduced to her. I didn't think they would become anything more than just friends. But nothing official ever happened between and it looked like nothing would, so I was glad.

"And then I saw the scars and I—"

"Scars?" Nalah winced as she said the word, she couldn't help herself, but she needed some clarification.

"She — Legacy — has scars. Stab wounds through her hands that are years old. She hides them with her gloves. They're not clean wounds. The same injury was repeated and sustained over a period of time. " Sensat's eyes connected with her own brown ones. The asari reached for the end of her left sleeve and pulled it up to reveal red and brown slash marks of varying degrees of depth and length. "And I thought I had found a kindred spirit."

Nalah closed her eyes and held her breath.

Sensat sobbed. "I thought I could help her, if they were self-inflicted. They may have been years old but the effects of abuse were still there. She flinched at nearly any form of touch. But I had been watching, all the while, and there were times when she would reach out to a select few — Dr. Solus, Erash, Grundan and most of all — the boss. But none of them would know what abuse was like—save Erash but he had shed away that life. They wouldn't know how to talk about it. They wouldn't be able to see. No one else was willing to confront it but me.

"But she said to me: 'Not all pain is awful.' So what does that mean if not broken?"

Nalah wanted to ask: Did you really try to help her to save her? Or did you try to help her because you wanted her to be yours?

"I'm not like all the other asari," Sensat whispered. "I'm not like the ones who made me the way I am."

The question died before they could pass her lips. Nalah realized she wasn't in the place to make any judgments. And she had promised to listen — to stay silent. Instead, Nalah reached out and poured another cup of coffee and listened with a smile and a hand on the asari's arm as she cried.

* * *

The trial of giving birth was harder than she thought—but she didn't regret the pain, the cussing, nor the look on her husband's face when their son came out blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful. She did feel a pang for the faces she wanted to see and celebrate with her—the boss and Legacy and friends from a long, long time ago who died when she and they were still children.

The boss hadn't been back for a long time and her son, Garret, was growing every day. She really would have liked it if the boss saw her baby's first steps at least. If he missed that too, she would go to Palaven herself and set the record straight.

With Archangel picking up activity and her husband being more absent as of late, Nalah thought it was time to get to patching in that extranet address on the datapad. Before she did that, however, she donned an old red dress and a pair of brown boots. She lost most of the weight she put on while pregnant but when she was still active in the gang she had more muscle than she had now so the old clothes fit well enough, even if it was loose on the sleeve and a little tight on the torso.

When the other person on the line answered, she smiled.

"Were you one of the runners back then? Damn, I should have recognized you."

Legacy smiled back at her. "I was. I didn't put two and two together until I had dossiers made of all of you." She laughed. "To be fair, Nalah, I should've known. I'm surprised no one has figured it out."

She smiled. "Well, it is hard to imagine."

"That you were the queen of the Tenth Street Reds?" Legacy laughed again. "And you were, what, 13? How long were you with them?"

"That was a long time ago. And long enough that my childhood was over. The Tenth Street Reds were different then—organized, loyal—we had principles. No less brutal to temps though. We never expect the runners to survive the raids we conducted. Usually those who came back became members—why didn't you ever come back?"

Legacy smiled, though this smile was different—small with her eyes cloudy. "I got adopted. My mentor took good care of me."

"He taught you everything you know?"

"Yeah. I'm—looking for him." Just then Garret cooed and made a few gurgling sounds. Legacy blinked several times. "Is that—"

"My son. Garret." She cooed at her son and then turned back to Legacy. "I'd really like it if you'd meet him in person—" Nalah cut herself from saying the name.

"Something wrong?"

Nalah hesitated. "I know I—forgot your face. We were kids then. But—I knew all the runners names. There was only one with red hair like yours." She paused. "Isn't that why you wanted me to call you? Because you know I know your real name?"

Legacy closed her eyes, briefly. "Yeah."

"Are you going to have me killed?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Garret gurgled again and laughed.

Legacy smiled. "Who knows."

If Nalah was still in the Reds—she would have had anyone who had any dirt on her killed. But that was a long time ago. She didn't think any of her old contacts would respond to her and Earth was a very far and different place compared to Omega.

Nalah smiled back. "I'd really like it if you visited us—or just me and Gar." She laughed. "You're probably one of the few I know who's still making a decent living—from my old days."

"Yeah. I'd like that."

"Legacy," Nalah took a deep breath. "What really happened? With Sensat and the boss?"

At first, Nalah was afraid that Legacy would drop the vidcall and block her address from ever messaging or calling her. However, Legacy's face remained still and cold. Then her facade broke into little pieces, every crack revealing a little detail that anyone could have missed— the quiver of her lips, the faltering gaze, her paling complexion.

Nalah wasn't really looking at Legacy as they'd known her. She was staring at the young eight year old girl, one of the many runners of the Tenth Street Reds that was destined to die—either because of the raid or because of the gang.

"R—" She hesitated. "Legacy?"

The younger woman on the other line collected herself, piece by piece. "Each hand—represents a lesson." She put up her right hand. "These were just things I had to endure to complete my training."

The scar was old but large, covering her palm. Nalah could only imagine how painful it was to endure it and how young Legacy must have been. Nalah remembered what Sensat said about abuse—was it possible that she didn't seem to be aware of the abuse?

"I know what my mentor did was wrong. The effect it has on humans is different. He didn't calculate what it would cost me."

"It's not that different, Legacy." She recalled Erash's steel and quiet air. Sensat's eagerness to please. "Not by enough that we can say that atrocities by one race to another can be excused."

"When you're a kid, growing up with the Reds or in the streets—your whole life is abuse. You, of all people, should know."

Nalah exhaled, nodding.

"We endure or we don't survive. These were hard lessons—ingrained lessons. My mentor made sure I would never forget them. And they're so deep that it's nature to me, as a soldier would pull the trigger if his life was threatened. Reflex. Instinct. And it's saved me more times then it's damned me."

"What were the lessons?"

Legacy closed her eyes. "I can't tell you that, Nalah."

Nalah chuckled airily. "I thought as much. Was still worth a try."

"Tell Sensat that I don't hold any grudges. This was the way it was supposed to be."

Nalah looked down at the sputtering Garret. "Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Are you aware of the boss' feelings for you?"

Legacy stared at her for a long time. "Y-yeah. Though, idiot that he is, he probably doesn't really know himself."

Nalah would have squealed but she held herself back. Be cool, Nalah. Cool. "Do you return his, uh, affections?"

Legacy opened her mouth to answer before she looked away. It looked like she was listening to someone else off camera.

"Legacy?" Nalah called out.

"Sorry. Friend told me to cut the connection. I'm ignoring him. Anyway— Hey!"

A hand reached out over Legacy's face. It was a hand full of scales—drell—and a rather angry drell. His face came into view for a few second before he reached towards the screen and, with an almost too satisfied half-smile, he cut off the connection.

She tried calling back a few more times but it was busy. Nalah held back the litany of curses she wanted to recite as Garret laughed uncontrollably, reaching out to her with his open hands.

Edited 06.30.2014


	34. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

**Chapter 29**

Allison didn't know much about Vakarian, other than the fact that he was pretty stuck up and unfriendly to boot. She didn't have a thing for younger turians who walked around like they were hotshots. She preferred the seasoned veterans like Victus or covert agents like Orion—men who stood tall in their own right, even in a dog-eat-dog society, to be exceptional without the lure of promotions.

So, really, Allison had no reason to activate a tactical cloak, much less know about it, when she saw Vakarian slip inside Ms. Penny's office. She also wouldn't know how to hack into his omni-tool, without him noticing her. Allison should have reported it, ran around screaming that she saw someone slip inside and wasn't sure who it was.

But Legacy knew, as well as all the other people—the characters, the masks—whom she had designed to have this sort of training. She—they— watched him, completely unnoticed until that moment when she—they— knew he was screwed and they needed to intervene.

Why did they do it? Why did she? She'd done well not to think too much about Omega for over nearly a year. She had that experience in Tuchanka, talking to old friends, finding a place in a team after flying so many years solo—

Speaking of old friends, this was all Nalah's fault. This wouldn't have been so fresh in her thoughts if Legacy hadn't been asked before the start of this mission, what her feelings were about Vakarian—or more appropriately, what her feelings were about the fact that she knew, all this time, that maybe Vakarian looked at her with more than a reasonable twinkle in his blue-grey eyes.

Fuck, she was rambling in her head. When was the last time she rambled in her head? When was the last time her thoughts were this disorganized? She felt the vestiges of the injury on her shoulder twinge and she reached for it. This was Legacy's movement, not Allison's, so she was happy that no one was in the dorm at the moment.

She could blame all this on the injuries too. If she had healed a little faster they could have went for something more direct and efficient. Instead, even if long term infiltration was her forte, she had to take in the character of someone who was a little weak and frail and clumsy to give herself enough time to heal properly.

Legacy looked down at her hands, at the smooth and scarless skin that covered her own. Just like Raitlin, her first name—the child that, for all she knew, was going to die as she ran inside the house of rubble, hand to her side in a useless attempt to stop the bleeding. She didn't expect to wake up but then she did, injuries wrapped and the steel smell of omni-gel hanging in the air. She turned to the salarian, Lor, he would introduce himself—at that time cold and distant. Later, as his student, strict but warm.

Then there was fire, embedded into the palms of her hands and large eyes pleading—it had to be done. As they reflected his own scarred hands, as he sang the dirges of his brothers and fathers before him, fallen from grace and never to return. She cried out, unheard until there were no more tears—just screams and fire and blood. No more, she wanted to plead, no more. But any pleading would go unheard because it had to be done and the lessons needed to be taught.

She saw Christina's face. Her first friend as Shepard. She remembered Christina's excited squealing as she talked about their important mission—not knowing she would meet her death with the Thresher Maw during it.

She watched the protheans burn. Their cities toppled down. Their people ran. Their civilizations crumbled.

Not now, Legacy pleaded, her fingers combed through her hair as she buried her head in her hands. This was not the time. It wasn't safe. Beat the thoughts back, refocus, and reorganize.

Refocus and reorganize.

Conviction, repetition.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the blue dress, turning to the mirror, she wasn't sure who was staring back at her.

They were so close to finding Dregg's hideout that Legacy can finally breathe a little. It was about time that she shed Allison off her skin. She was getting tired of smiling and tripping over herself. Meeting Victus outside of South Pearl was dangerous, though they managed to convince management that this was as it should be—a member and patron spending quality time with his _Srae_.

"You're lucky," Myra said with a purr in her sub-vocals. "Few patrons want to be seen outside with an escort, especially one that isn't asari or turian. He must have really taken a shine to you, Allie."

"I'm a little scared." Allison gulped down the dread. One hand on her heart, she took a deep breath. "And leaving Hatty behind here is making me nauseous. I haven't been out of South Pearl since I was hired."

"Your brother will be fine—the girls will definitely take care of him." There was a small giggle afterwards. Legacy laughed inside as well. Mad— or Hatty, had already expressed in flailing pantomime how being mute had impaired his abilities to scare people off. Especially considering how aggressive the girls—and some boys—were. She'd already witness a turian _Srae_ ogle his ass when she asked him to pick up something that had conveniently rolled off her table.

It was wrong of Legacy but she was glad he was more or less distracted and drawing the employees' attention. It was thanks to him that she sped up Victus's investigation. Today was just one of the last few sprints—as Nyreen and Sarah were dealing with the other end in Thessia— before she can finally close this chapter and deliver her payment to Alenko when he was functional.

She could put this all behind her and return to looking for Lor. Then, maybe it was time to retire.

An escort from South Pearl drove her to Rivali, one of the best hotels in Renaudi. Still in her hard suit she got off the skycar and into the lobby. She was escorted to the penthouse where she could shed off her hard suit and fix her hair before meeting the General. When the escorts stood safely behind the closed doors of the elevator, the passcode entered into her omni-tool allowed her a fast entrance into the main living room—plush and white, the high ceiling and the round pillars reminded her of the pictures of Ancient Rome that she had studied once. The only difference being that everything was cut from the finest of glass—of ice in the colors of white, blue, and even red.

"It's called Cipritine glass."

Allison froze. That was not General Victus's voice.

"Shepard. You said we could talk."

* * *

It was impertinent of him to call her out, right when he knew she had frozen at the sound of his voice. She probably never expected him to call in favors or to confront Victus directly about setting this up. In fact, the General had seemed both surprised and approving when Garrus said: "I'm going to cut through the pyjack shit: I need to borrow your _Srae_. We're old acquaintances and there are things I need to iron out with her—sir. Before we can continue the investigation."

The General didn't ask any questions, didn't ask Garrus how he found out or why he needed to meet Allison. Victus only gave him a solid nod and a smooth reply. "We're set to meet outside South Pearl in a few days. I'll give you an hour."

So, there he was. He waited for her dutifully, cleaning out the rifle she gave him and his sidearm. At least both Legacy and Allison had precision in common, especially when it came to time.

Shepard didn't move. In fact, it looked like she had stopped breathing—in her flowing dress she seemed like a statue frozen in time.

Garrus didn't need an hour.

"Look, I'm not exactly good with words, Shepard. I think you know that better than anyone. So I'm just going to blurt it out and hope I don't make a fool of myself.

"You didn't give yourself away—not once until a few days ago when you saved the investigation. I can only guess that you're around because this involves the Reapers or Lor. But I'm tired of running from you—or my thoughts of you—Spirits, there are too many questions in my head that I want to ask but I know you're not going to answer them."

He walked up to the low-legged table in the living room and slid the necklace off his neck. He gave it one last look before he let it dangle from a talon. The pendant hit the glass with a soft click before he let the rest of the chain fall.

That's the only time Legacy turned to look at him. Locking eyes with him first before she looked at the pendant and the chain.

"I wanted to give it to you—but you left before I got the chance. It was the Christmas present I owed you."

It was Legacy's grace that had her walking towards him, her eyes still on the pendant as she reached forward, fingers quivering, when she picked it up. She ran a thumb at the etched insignia, one he had painstakingly dug up from his old files and memories.

"Do you like it?"

She remained silent, her thumb still tracing the design.

"I'm glad." He looked away and down. "But I'm also sorry. And angry and scared. Because I know that—I need you more than you'll ever need me. And—Legacy? Wh-what's wrong?"

* * *

The right hand meant pain.

Legacy learned the hard way, much later, that pain could take on more forms beyond just the physical. The pain of losing friends and loved ones, the pain of regret, the pain of betrayal, the pain of shedding away memories, a life, an identity.

Still, she didn't think she felt a pain quite like this before— looking into Vakarian's eyes, then at the necklace. She felt the sigil of the League burn into her skin like it was searing a new scar there. Sobbing, screaming— nothing was expressive enough to show how much this sigil meant to her.

Yet, in the heart of that she felt the shattering of Vakarian's, no, of Garrus's trust. If she were a better person, she would let him go—just like she did in Omega— and they would never have to see each other again.

"Don't play with a man's heart too much, baby girl." Murakiel, one of the First Seven of the Dominion, used to say with a cigarette between his thumb and his index finger. His advice came in the form of an impressive southern drawl and the upward tilt of his chin as he blew the smoke away. "You're probably going to feel that backbite when you realize you return the same feelings."

She always used to shake her head at his advice about love. Now she craved more than anything to have the Dominion, the First Seven, and their reproach or support on this matter.

Should she answer Garrus with honesty and damn him? Or lose him and save him? There was no black and white for Legacy, only darker and lighter shades of grey— one time too many she'd chosen the darker side but sometimes there was light too.

Where did her feelings about Garrus stand? And could they hold up against the tidal wave or be buried beneath the sand?

Behind her eyes, she saw, re-lived the old lessons— the scars on her hands hidden, the meaning of both of them, the Protheans burning, the screech of the Thresher Maw, Lor's soothing songs. Conviction, repetition. Loneliness. Hatred. Revenge. Silence. Conviction, repetition. The life of a shadow, the Legion, the Dominion. Of no one and everyone. She stood alone in an expanse, unable to be understood because the men of Legion were one—and we have no weaknesses.

She held the pendant in a fist. The sigil on her skin felt cold. Against her eyes, the back of her hands burned as she reached for her self-control.

Don't cry.

Don't cry because no one will hear or answer or help or understand.

But how did he know? A voice in the void asked her. How did he know how to hurt you? How did he know that this gift would mean so much to you?

It didn't matter.

When Garrus pried her hands away from her face, there were no tears.

Edited 06.22.2014


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone!

**Chapter 30**

Since she saved his team on Omega, Garrus had already admired her. Later, that admiration turned into respect and then into friendship. He found himself teetering on the edges of trust and worship when he began to work with her.

Not once had she shown this sort of fragility—anger, maybe, and a little bit of madness—but never weakness. Even as grey blue eyes met his—they were neither Allison's nor Legacy's. Brittle and as weak as ice, if he pried he could push her control—

And lose her trust or what little she gave him, judging by the state of their friendship. She didn't need anyone but herself and she wasn't afraid to hurt him if it meant this distance could be maintained. If he was a good turian, he'd back down and wait for the next moment to strike.

Except he wasn't a good turian and any weakness exposed by the target was the bread and butter of any marksman. Legacy wasn't the type to be cooed or coddled—not the way Sensat tried. And no distant overlooking helped either—like Mordin's and Aria's method. She needed somebody who would fall into hell with her and back. There was no, as Butler would say, pussyfooting about it. If he wanted to be that person then he would have to fight for it.

He had her in his crosshairs, his finger on the trigger.

"Why are you crying?"

She looked away. "I'm not."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not lying."

"It's in your voice."

"I don't have sub-vocals." Her voice was monotone. "You're over-reading."

Garrus hummed. "So, you just really like the pendant?"

"Yeah." She turned away. "Thanks."

"I—want us to be, well, us. Before—everything. You think you can live with us?"

"I—"

"No is not an option."

"Vakarian—"

"Garrus."

"Fucking hell—are we _still_ on that?"

He chuckled. "We never got off it."

Even with eyes a different color, the glaring was all Legacy. "I don't think I like the sound of your voice."

"You're human. You don't understand sub-vocals." He shrugged. "You're over-reading."

He could tell she tried very hard not to smile and her efforts succeeded. Only he knew her too well not to see through her side glance, her step backwards, her long sigh. "Vakarian, I don't think you understand all the motives behind what I did to Sensat. And even all the days before that when I was being shitty company. So let me put it into words: I want us to be as we were supposed to be, professionals kept at professional distance. And when this is all over, we can go our separate ways and be none the wiser."

He let her have that silence. Apparently, she was hoping for it and when she thought she had won that was when Garrus asked: "Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes. Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

Garrus crossed his arms and leaned back on one foot. Of course, he was channeling her and she knew it. If looks could kill, Garrus would be double dead meat by now. "I mean why? We worked well together as friends, as a team. Why do we need to go back to those days where we knew nothing about one another when we both know that isn't true?"

"Because it's dangerous."

"Why is it dangerous?"

"Because you don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of. And I don't want to be put in a position where I have to actually care about what you think of—"

 _What you think of me._ She caught herself just in time but they both knew she screwed up there. Legacy wasn't usually wound this tight; she had higher and sturdier barriers. Instead she seemed to be fracturing, little by little, there was something wrong. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone.

"Legacy." He began. "I don't know who you are, not completely. And I already figured out most of the bad parts."

"Meaning?"

"Hm. To put it lightly: you're a bitch and you're not afraid of reminding people. A more detailed description: we don't share the same ideals and it's not supposed to work out between us but it does and that just freaks the hell out of you. So, you're doing the best you can to make this hard for me and it's not working so that freaks you out even more."

"Hah."

He narrowed his eyes at the challenge he saw in her casual stance. "But the one thing you don't have to worry about is my opinion of you. It isn't going to change. Besides, I'm officially still a vigilante—I do enjoy my dose of danger."

"So, what are we?"

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

She motioned at the space between them. "Us. What are we?"

"We're—" His mandible hung open for a bit before he clicked them shut. He could have said friends but the dynamic was too close for even that. A family. A team. Partners. All those things at once and then not at all, not really. Grey, grey, grey. Nothing about them was black and white.

Shit.

"You don't know, do you?" She was regaining her strength. Building up the walls to insurmountable levels. She let out a low and breathy chuckle. "Talk is cheap, Vakarian. I suggest you make declarations when you actually understand what you're getting into here." She motioned between them again. "Until then, there will be nothing here."

Concussive rounds may have made the impact but in the end those bullets were empty. When he found some strength to say something—anything—Victus and Orion entered.

"Vakarian, Allison." The General nodded at both of them. "I hope your discussion is over?"

* * *

She was a little glad that in terms of who had more luck, Vakarian always picked the shorter straw. Easily, she shifted back to business, sidestepping Vakarian before he could barter or riot—there wasn't any time for this relationship thing. The mission always came first.

"For now," She put out her hand. "I don't think we officially met. Tara Legacy."

"Indeed." The General gave her the official turian shake by grabbing her forearm. She shook Orion's arm too and motioned for them to enter the briefing room. "Before we begin our meeting—I just want to know why you're involved in this investigation, Legacy."

She smirked at him, leaning forward on the meeting table with both her hands. "I was hoping you'd ask that, sir. And I hope you have the time to listen because it's actually a very long story. Have you heard of Commander Alenko?"

The General tilted his head up. "The human who was killed by a geth attack?"

"You sound like you don't agree."

"Let's just say it was an awfully convenient thing to say when the Citadel was attacked by a giant ship with weapons like we've never seen before. But what does this have to do with our investigation and your involvement?"

"Everything you see—Alenko is alive." She locked eyes with Vakarian. "And I'm helping him out until he can move again."

"The Commander—"

"Is being rebuilt by the criminal organization, Cerberus. They managed to pick up what was left of his body in Alchera with the help of a mutual friend of ours, Vakarian. According to my Intel, the Commander is nearly put together. They're just waiting for him to wake up."

"You knew this whole time and you never thought to tell me any of this?"

Vakarian was practically seething, if turians could actually seethe. She folded her arms against her chest. "Is it upsetting, Vakarian?"

"I just thought you would have the decency to tell me something like this—something that concerns me—and not have to hide it." _Like everything else,_ was left unsaid.

She shrugged. "And if his resurrection failed? Would you have the fortitude to handle that sort of knowledge? To know that a friend was being artificially assimilated by a long time enemy—only to find out that they've failed? There was no reason to let you know about Alenko until it was time."

"You're saying this incident has something to do with Alenko's proclamations two years ago." Victus took control of the conversation with a hard stare directed at Vakarian. Immediately, Garrus crossed his arms and looked away, saying nothing in reply. "The existence of Reapers."

"Do you believe it yourself?"

"I don't deny it, no. Nothing can quite explain that attack on the Citadel two years ago. Not even geth."

"Then, before I tell you more we have a bargain to settle."

Victus put his hands behind his back. "Meaning?"

She put more weight on her hands. "I give you the Intel you sorely need to finish this investigation on the disappearances of prominent turian officials. As well as help you fix the mess, if necessary. In return, you'll owe the Commander the support he may need to fight the Reapers in the future—whether that be a squad or an entire fleet."

"You think just you helping us is enough of a bargain for thousands of turian soldiers? Their lives? Their sacrifices?"

"The war Alenko is fighting won't be a small scale thing. I'm sure you've heard of mass disappearances—human colonies disappearing overnight? The Council is convinced that this is solely a human matter, regardless of the fact that humans are now considered a Council race. No amount of strong arming will convince the Council that humans need their intervention or that their races are involved in these disappearances as well. Unless—they were actually involved and they find out you knew and did nothing about it."

It wasn't blackmail, not really. Only the suggestion that they probably wouldn't be able to move from there seemed to set the turians off. Worst, it was enough to set General Victus's blood on fire in spite of his usually calm leadership. He bore his sharp teeth at Legacy with a smile. "You're saying that the disappearing turians—small as they are—are meeting the same fate as the humans. That this is bigger than I think it is."

"Chances are high."

"And that we won't be able to move forward in this investigation without your help."

She smiled. "Of course you can."

"So why would we need you?"

She tilted her head. "Time."

"Shit. General." Orion looked all the more distressed. "The brass is only giving us—"

"I know about the deadlines."

"So," Legacy didn't smile now—she let the tone carry the rest of the conversation. Of course, none of them were happy. "What will it be? Will you owe me that debt that could potentially save your people in the future? Or will you wait till time runs out on you?"

There wasn't much hesitation on General Victus's part to shake hands. They exchanged information—developing an action plan to infiltrate a facility they both found common in their Intel.

Throughout it all, she felt Vakarian's steady stare on the back of her head. Very soon it was unlikely they would see each other again after this unless she chose to keep helping Alenko. The chances of that were small.

This would likely be the last time they worked together.

She told herself it was for the best.

Edited 06.22.2014


	36. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. I apologize for the wait, there was a lag in writing. Legion of One's planning style is that there is, at least, a ten chapter difference between the latest online update and the drafted chapters. This ensures some kind of planning, as I like to foreshadow things in earlier chapters. Unfortunately, due to a writer's block I wasn't able to create the desire gap between chapters.
> 
> But here I am, again. Thank you for the patience and enjoy this (tease) update! Because you know, Valentine's Day.

**Chapter 31**

Only a week after the hotel meeting, they made plans to head to Impera. According to their combined Intel, that was the location of Dregg's lab. Impera was a quiet planet with nothing to show for except a few suburban establishments; it was the least expected place to hide a high tech facility where monstrous experiments were likely being conducted.

Sinking into Alisson's character—she was on auto-pilot as she zipped up her tunic and her boots. She barely remembered boarding the _Temperament_. She removed the cosmetics and fake skin on her hands, the scars grey and rough, before slipping on her gloves. Vaguely, she recalled Vakarian had detoured to talk to Joker—trading insults and covert looks as she walked into the elevator. She hadn't heard from Victus or Orion since she boarded. Sighing, she slipped out of her cabin, boarding the elevator to make it down to Engineering. Once there, she took a deep breath at the emptiness and sat down on the bench.

With the unpredictable nature of battle, she usually skipped most of the things Lor liked to observe—the prayers, the battle arias, the meditation. Instead, she kept it to their mantra as a team— not prayers to gods or spirits they neither believed in nor knew, but rather ones for their fathers and brothers, for all the ones before who had existed and still did in her every action and in every lesson she recalled.

She felt the ship's living pulse from the walls, beneath her gloved fingers, under the surface of her scalp as she leaned back. What she wouldn't give now to sing one of the Legion's dirges or even use one of the cheers she learned in Tuchanka to calm her own raising pulse. She could begin with an aria from the Legion and move on to the longer songs until they had to shuttle out.

"You can't be any more different."

She kept herself from jumping at the sound of Amadeus's voice. The doors slid closed and locked behind him. She turned her eyes from him to the Titus Drive Core. "In what way?"

"Don't think I didn't notice you being spacey, Allie. Since you met up with that turian—"

She put her hand up to stop him. "Keep it short, Mad. I'm in the middle of my prayers."

He sneered. "When was the last time you prayed?"

"Meditations are forms of prayer. And not since I was hired to work in South Pearl. Now, I'm given the rare opportunity to perform the special rites before battle."

"Fuck that, just do what you always do. What do you need to pray for?"

She narrowed her. "I don't expect anyone out of the Legion to understand. Now, leave."

He glared back, folding his arms against his chest.

Legacy closed her eyes and breathed through her nose.

She found herself caught between the wall and Amadeus, his hands propping him up as he leaned against the wall. Bending down, she could almost taste his breath—the cold of steel and the mist of rain—when he spoke. She met his eyes with equal parts sharpness and anger. "You think that turian knows what you are? Understands you? I've been your friend, your comrade, your lover. That Vakarian is no champion, he'll leave just like Azril—"

Her fist clenched, she hit him in the heart—her forearm touched the rest of his chest as she drew her face closer to his. She imagined that if she had her sword in hand, it would have pierced through him. Would she had felt any remorse if she killed him? She wasn't sure. She shouldn't have been surprised that he knew about Azril, Mad probably looked into it or watched it firsthand. But for someone outside of the Dominion to know about this was—unusual.

She didn't say anything, only stared up at him. At first, his eyes didn't change and he remained defiant. A few seconds later, she felt him trembling. Anger? Impatience? Sadness? If Amadeus cried—here and now, what would she do? She'd never comforted anyone before. Sighing, she moved to the edge of the bench and motioned for him to sit.

He listened, not once turning away. She cleared her throat, suddenly the room felt stuffy. "How long were you going to hide that you knew about Azril?"

"Wasn't it obvious? Since you left the Alliance." Hands on his lap, he clenched and unclenched his fists. Had he ever showed her any signs of nervousness and anxiety before? She couldn't remember.

"Were you ever going to ask about it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He gritted his teeth. "Because you were probably going to lie about it."

"Hm. Maybe a year ago, I would have." She leaned forward. "Not now, though."

She gave him that window and he pounced on it, putting his feet on the bench so he can face her while Indian sitting. "You were supposed to marry him, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was supposed to." She clasped her hands and laced her fingers together.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I left the Alliance."

Amadeus tilted his head to the side. "What does that have to do with marrying Azril?"

"It has everything to do with the Alliance."

She didn't have perfect memory. With more than a thousand different backgrounds stored in her head, it wasn't easy to remember every single thing—and to remember everything about a false personality was to reveal that they were, in fact, false. Only lies had such elaborate details, she remembered Lor telling her once. But she could claim that Jane Shepard's memories were perfect—she remembered everyday she spent as a soldier in the Alliance, as the leader of the Dominion, as the fiancé of Azril.

Friends, comrades, lovers. She had been all of those and more to people she barely knew or cared about. Everything could tumble as quickly as it was built. Even the connections she'd made as a supposed authentic self were as groundless as any lie she ever recited. But Jane Shepard had cared deeply about the Alliance and about the connections she had there.

But did she, the current her, care?

"Tu-fira."

Shepard looked at Amadeus and smiled. "To be lost in another?" She shook her head, no. "Tu-sera."

It was Mad's turn to close his eyes and sigh. "To be lost in one's self." He leaned forward. Mad opened his mouth—in the last moment, however, he held his tongue and looked away. It wasn't like him, Legacy thought, to have cut himself from saying anything. Instead, he stood up with a nod. "Thanks for telling me, Allie. I'll—keep it in mind."

She narrowed her eyes. "In mind for what?"

He was already by the door entrance when he said: "For the next time you feel like being honest."

Shepard had the VI lock the door once Mad was out. One long hour of meditation calmed her heart a fraction. The hum of the ship was constant and sure. Reaching for the pendant above her heart under the tunic, she traced the insignia and continued her prayers with fervor.

* * *

"So, you knew? About the Commander being alive?"

Moreau shrugged, leaning back against the leather seat of the _Temperament's_ cockpit—there was something right and wrong about it. The fact that Moreau was piloting again was right but the fact that the ship was so much like the _Normandy_ and yet not it, sent tingles through his cowl and made his mandible click.

It was smaller, definitely, and could run on a skeleton crew due to the advanced VI (no doubt, Black Market stuff—likely a hair's breadth away from being an actual AI). But there was a life to it that was similar—Alliance captain, maybe—but lacked the all-around stiffness that Alenko always carried with him.

"Took awhile. A few months. Legacy keeps everything sensitive like that on a need-to-know basis but—she was delicate about it." He motioned at the only other chair in the cockpit behind Garrus. "She sat right there, kept eye level and everything and held my hand. Pretty sure I made a crude joke about being proposed to but she smiled it off and told me that Alenko was alive and that I—" Moreau looked away, for once no smile on that face of his. "Don't have to feel responsible anymore because it wasn't my fault. Well, I was damned grateful somebody from the old days really thought so."

Garrus hummed. "Joker, it's never been your fault. Those damned Reapers—"

"You didn't see it. Shit, you weren't even on the ship!" Moreau sighed. "Damn, sorry, now who's the one with the stick up his ass?"

Garrus laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the frame of the cockpit. "Not muttering your insults anymore?"

"Hey, I've lived in Tuchanka weeks at a time for almost two years. I'm not scared of washed-out, vigilante turians. Don't deny you were playing superhero in Omega—Legacy told me all about it." He smiled briefly before he tipped his hat up with the flick of his hand. "Point is: I felt more like shit than usual, and that's saying something from someone who can't walk without breaking a bone here and there. But hey, working for the krogans was enlightening in a way—and Legacy is a damn fine captain in more ways than one if you get what I mean—your turian taste be damned."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"What do I—" Joker's eyebrows disappeared under his hat, his eyes were wide and jaw open slightly. "Jesus, you're kidding. Legacy is always one of two things: either you don't know she's in the room even if she's in plain sight or all you could see is her. For the latter I've seen krogan and elcor exchange impish grins. There isn't an asari with more pheromones than our girl."

Garrus scratched the side of his mandible with a trimmed talon. Huh. He always considered humans odd looking. Too soft, too small. They had hair or fur instead of a fringe and they stood funny. He remembered his first day at C-Sec and caught himself just staring at human hands for one second too long.

If he thought about it, there had been occasions when he looked at Shepard with more than a friendly gaze but he'd always just brushed that off. He appreciated a honed and deadly body and skills that were equal parts flashy and deadly. If it wasn't to admire her abilities than he stared because she was alien—though he never stared much at his own human teammates. Moreover, he had never really looked so deeply into anyone's eyes before, not till he could memorized the emerald quality of them anyway.

The two of them stared at each other for a while. Garrus didn't like the maniacal grin spreading wider and wider on the pilot's face. All Garrus wanted to do was hide under a rock and not come out—he willed his feet not to shift either and Joker looked like he was waiting for them because he looked down. Damn, was he that predictable?

"Boy, do I feel sorry for the captain."

Garrus looked up from his thoughts. "Huh?"

"Nothing, Vakarian." Joker looked back at his controls. "Absolutely, nothing."

Edited 06.23.2014


	37. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early to make up for my month long absence. Enjoy!

**Chapter 32**

"I have to say, the lack of resemblance is uncanny."

Legacy opened her eyes to look at Orion across her, strapped into his seat. She tilted her head at his comment. On her lap, she had her right fist in the palm of her left hand as she recited the prayers in her head. Closer to the cockpit of the Kodiak, Garrus and the General were going over a few more plans. She had Mad take the wheel as they drifted above the trees and the ground of Impera—for all the green and blue it would have been a pleasant place to live in if it wasn't so ridden with greenhouse gasses except for the tiny pockets of bubble enclosed eco-suburban zones. She had to wear hardier armor in case their enemies tried to flush them out of the facility by killing the generators—but it was heavier and chunkier than she was used. Not the best combination with her healing wounds.

"You're not going to ask what I mean?" Orion was a little bigger than Vakarian—definitely less interesting looking, even with the colony markings on his jaw and nose. For a covert agent he was a lot of brash comments and even brasher movement. During missions, even the most hot headed of her team reigned in their anger for the sake of the mission.

"I would if I was at all curious."

"Then I'll tell you: I mean, how could you and Allison possibly be the same person?"

She shrugged. "Didn't you have infiltrators in your own team?"

"Not as adept at acting as you, no. Where did you learn that? I can't imagine this being something the Alliance taught you."

By now, their conversation had drawn the attention of the other two turians. If Mad had the chance, he would have already went in between them and hurled his own thoughts at Orion.

"And you think I'm Alliance because…?"

"Were. And even if you joined the Alliance, it wasn't supposed to be a permanent thing. You probably used them—resources, guns, connections?" She lifted an eyebrow at him and he smiled. "I'm not implying you were malicious in your intent, only wise. That you were Alliance isn't important though. What's important was all the time before and after that. For instance, the language of your arias aren't translatable."

"Huh. This is the first time I've had anyone admit they were spying on me."

"It's not like you didn't know I was listening. That hardly counts as spying." He crossed his arms. "Humor me, Legacy. As a master of subterfuge to a mere fledgling—you've got to tell me how I can learn it."

She smiled. "If you're questioning your aptitude to be an agent then I can tell you it isn't necessary. You're plenty competent. However, you aren't made for this kind of trickery, Orion."

"Meaning?"

She pointed at her heart. "You have too much self-certainty for self-trickery."

"Seconds away from LZ. Brace for landing. Re-activating stealth." Mad's voice, ever the agent of interruptions, called from the cockpit as he sped up, then hovered. "Setting it on auto-pilot."

The General stood. "Vakarian, you take the rear with Amadeus. You can be as far back as you both like to give us sniper support." He looked at both Orion and Legacy. "You'll take point with me. I want you both ready to switch to melee when necessary."

"Oh, that's unusual General. Wouldn't you want to put the drell on point and Legacy here in the rear with Vakarian?" Orion stood as well, putting his helmet on.

The general motioned with his head at the drell, frown firmly in place as Mad reached for his own helmet. "Looks like the type who hates orders. Can't have that on point."

 _And I can't put Amadeus and Legacy_ together was left unsaid, though Legacy understood that the precaution was necessary. She would have done the same thing or similar if their situations were reversed. Have Garrus watch the wild one and she herself would watch the silent, scary one. Their truce was under weird circumstances, after all. Between Mad and her, she didn't foresee them having a hard time taking down three seasoned turians, if they intended to.

"Let me repeat our mission brief: we're here to find out what the hell happened to our men and get them out of here. According to our gathered Intel, we'll find something here about Dreggs and his slave ring." He looked at Legacy. "Allie, I'm giving you free reign to move however you like within sight of our sinpers. You're more or less likely to have better synergy with them. There will be times when I'll ask you to move ahead of us for recon."

"Understood." She said through her helmet. As they landed she drew her blade, ready.

* * *

Looking through his scope, Garrus felt a wave of nostalgia—watching Shepard fight had always been impressive. She hadn't even activated her Tactical Cloak that often, making up with speed and a blade that went straight for the heart or the neck. Every kill was a clean kill, every movement precise. Maybe he should have been afraid of how fast she could take the life of a turian (and a couple of drell and humans) but he still couldn't help but be impressed.

"Krogan."

Her voiced crackled through the comm like a breeze, Garrus readied his rifle, his finger on the trigger. Through his scope, he could see Shepard duck behind cover beside the general. To the left flank, Orion was having fun pummeling one turian and shooting another with his shotgun before rolling to cover as well.

Shepard stood out of cover, pelting the approaching krogan with SMG bullets, reducing his barrier to half. When the krogan brought up his hand, she looked at the general and shouted: "Singularity!"

The general rolled out of cover and onto the next one, Shepard flipped in the opposite direction as the Singularity ate their former cover. With a clear shot in sight, Garrus aimed his bullet at the krogan's head, reloaded quickly and shot him again.

Amadeus took the last shot from him with a self-satisfied little half-smile. Garrus lifted his chin up in amusement at how bent he was on competing (as if the drell could handle him, really). A signal that it was clear from all flanks had them climbing down from their perches as they approached the door that led closer to the core of the facility. Shepard slipped to the back to discreetly slide her blade back into the holster secured around her hips. Then she reached for her right shoulder, rolling it.

"Shepard," Garrus said before he could stop himself. "A word?"

Shepard looked up. Her eyes clear through the window of helmet. She turned to Victus who gave the signal that they had ten minutes and instructed the others to rest as well. She looked at Amadeus who folded his arms across his chest but stayed put. Turning to Garrus, finally, she tilted her head for them to move a little far back. He signaled her to switch off her comm right after he switched his off as well.

"Were you injured?" He asked immediately when they were far out of earshot.

"No."

"Your aim was off."

She tilted her head to the side. "I think I shot that krogan more times than you did before he brought out the Singularity."

"But it was off. With a gun like yours calibrated to optimum, you should have taken down his barrier before he could even think of the Singularity."

She appeared relaxed, even though her eyes were blank. But then, she sighed, looking a bit at Mad before turning back to him. "Don't tell Mad. He gets a little—antsy—over small things."

"Is it," He told himself not to hesitate—but he did anyway and then berated himself for a second with a hiss that escaped him. He cleared his throat. "Your right shoulder?"

She nodded. "I sustained an injury without proper medi-gel or care and then got knocked over repeatedly. I planned to have it checked—after I pass everything on to Alenko."

He still felt a little bit of that fire coursing through his veins at the fact that she never told him, but then he exhaled deeply. "Can you switch to your left?"

"I can but," She motioned at the group. Amadeus was insisting they hack the door now and Victus was explaining in clipped, professional tones that rest was just as important as the fight. "He'd notice that the downtime wasn't enough."

"Ah. Is he that volatile?"

"You should try stealing his tea. Just try."

Garrus chuckled. Something he didn't know he'd find himself doing after their argument a week ago. Shepard's eyes through the helmet were unusually bright. Scratching the back of his neck, Spirits, was this really the time to get jittery? He eyed her right shoulder, clearing his throat. "Switch hands. You know that making it worse isn't good for your profession."

Shepard turned away and towards the door, right as the general instructed Amadeus to start his hacking and to make short work of it. She switched her comm back on and motioned for Garrus to do the same. Then, she changed the orientation of her holster so it would be easier to grab with her left hand.

He saw, however, the barest twitch of her shoulders at what he said. He didn't switch his comm back on and instead reached for her left shoulder, clamping down a little harder than he meant to.

He felt the tremor of Shepard's body even through his glove. He saw through his visor how quickly Shepard's calm heart rate spiked. When she twisted back to look at him, even when the rest of her face was covered by a helmet, he saw clearly through window and into her eyes—the same look she had given Sensat when the asari was holding her.

He kept his hand there though, but removed all his weight and then placed it instead on his words when he said: "Shepard, I—this is bad timing, I know. But," He stopped himself from fidgeting. "I don't know what you are to me. And I don't know what we are or what I want us to be. Not yet. But, I just—I just never want you to be afraid of me."

Seconds ticked by and he counted them, too slow against the beating of his own heart and too fast against the insistent tapping of Amadeus's foot echoing around the lab as he tried to finish the last of the codes on the door. Then, the resounded beep of an error and Orion's mean cackle.

Spirits, he really was a bad turian for declaring this in the middle of a mission. He could already hear his father's voice telling him to wise up. Especially since Shepard wasn't saying anything back.

Damn, this was awkward.

"And I," He coughed. "I want to know more about you."

She closed her eyes.

"And I like looking at you—uh, I mean keeping you in my sights. You know, not in that objectified kind of way. In, uh, good kind of way—the I want to take care of you kind of way, but I know you can take care of yourself! I'm not implying that you can't because you obviously can, I was watching through my scope. I mean, look at how you took care of those turians. You know a lot about our anatomy. You know just right where to slide that sword in to make him scream—"

Snorting. That's what Williams did (and called it when Garrus asked) when Alenko did something amazingly dense and got them all in trouble. Williams would end up making that strange sound somewhere between her nose and her throat right before laughing at his face. Alenko always took it with a roll of his eyes and his own dopey smile as he watched Williams laugh.

Which is what Shepard did, she snorted at him right before hiding a laugh behind a cough as she switched off her comm again. Trying to face him, she turned away instead, snorting, again.

"That just went somewhere really horrible, didn't it?"

She shook her head, tried to put her hand over her mouth but the helmet was in the way so it didn't help much with muffling the sound of laughter in her voice. "Like watching a transit hub speed off without breaks."

"Spirits, thanks for trying so hard to stop me then. Really."

"You're welcome."

He marveled at how easily they could slip back into banter. At how easily they could just—be them. Just like that time he had pulled her into Archangel HQ and all those times they sat across each other, talking about nothing and everything. Why couldn't it be just like before?

Because that isn't what I wanted, he thought to himself, he wanted to know Shepard. And he never wanted his ignorance to cause another rift between them again. Moreover, he wanted to know how deep this relationship went, how far it could go before—before what?

He didn't know. But he sure as hell wanted to find out.

She put a hand over his, shaking him out of his thoughts. The hand was light but shaking—and he knew she was upset about it because she glared at her own hand before letting out a shuddering sigh. "I," There was the barest quiver in her voice. "I don't want to be afraid of you either. But—" She looked back at the rest of the squad. "We need to talk about this later."

He hesitated. Was she stalling again? Was she going to avoid him again? Was she going to disappear on him again?

No, she faced him with her eyes open. Returned his touch even when she looked ready to either hurt him or run—she wanted to fix this just as much as he did.

"All right." He agreed, and she stepped ahead of him. He smirked. "I guess someone has to help the drell open the door."

"He always lets his emotions get the best of him." She chuckled, shaking her head—both of them ended up helping Amadeus open the door anyway.

Edited 06.23.2014


	38. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Didn't mean for this chapter to be so late but I had some pretty intense finals and breakthroughs with writing. Happy to announce that the engines haven't stopped and I'm far ahead of my quota. The problem now is that I'm a little miffed about the quality of my writing. So, Legacy of One is going through a refresher/intense edit.
> 
> Elantil and I are basically going to be going through it to clean up AND remind ourselves of what is happening in terms of plot and character progression. I realize, most of this is my fault since but it's also the little things- descriptions of places, people, events- that make this story both special and just freaking hard to pin down. Don't expect an update soon (1-2 months).
> 
> TL;DR: Legacy of of One will go through intense outline and editing. Next update will be in 1-2 months, at least. Apologies that the end of this chapter will leave you guys seething. If you would like to help in some way as progress outliner or proofreader, (just temporarily of course) to speed all this along, then let me know and we can arrange something.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

**Chapter 33**

Shepard wanted to show proof to the General that the human problem with abductions was a galactic problem—not just solely theirs. That it was something the Council, and every race, needed to be worried about.

If the turians, humans, and krogans in test tubes—either whole or dismembered— floating in some kind of fluid wasn't proof enough for the Hierarchy to rethink their involvement in helping the humans—Garrus didn't know what else to give them short of an actual Collector and Reaper invasion. He switched the recording option of his visor on, surveying the area—in case the higher ups needed even more visual evidence of atrocities done to their own people. The facility itself barely had any lights, and the shadows in every corner were a dark, inky black that it was a surprise his visor could even fathom them.

Shepard was speaking through her comm now with Moreau, uploading as much of the data from the computers here and into the _Temperament_. With the aid of the ship's VI and Shepard's own expertise, they swiftly took care of any possible viruses and traps lingering there. Garrus immediately thought of Tali, and how nice it would be if Shepard and her had a real conversation instead of the strange drunken one (solely on Tali's part) they had in Flux nearly two years ago.

General Victus, on the other hand, was looking up at one of the turian bodies floating in a test tube. When they entered, the General had said this was Commander Regulus, someone whom he had promoted himself. The commander had gone MIA along with his entire team nearly a year ago. His white colony markings still on his chin and nose—his entire right arm was missing.

There was about 40 bodies floating around—and this was one of the smaller rooms, what else would they find in the main one at the end of the corridor? Orion and Amadeus were working on that one as silently and as efficiently as they possibly could.

"This," The General spoke aloud—though mostly to himself. "There has to be something more to this. A big picture we're just not being shown."

"It's possible. But everything so far has been straight-forward—simple. I don't think they expect us to escape here alive." Shepard answered with a nod. "I also don't think we should open the main door."

The General chuckled. "Because it would be the most obvious place to put a trap?"

"I don't think our enemies are so incompetent." Shepard folded her arms across her chest. Garrus could hear the smirk in her voice. "I think beyond this door we're going to find out more than we ever bargained for."

The General motioned at the dozens of capsules that surrounded them. "And this isn't?"

"There's nothing in the files here that indicate what precisely they— Collectors or Reapers or both— were trying to accomplish with these experiments. Not even a coded message." She brought up the holograms from her omni-tool. "And because we found nothing they expect us to explore further. We already have the proof—what more do we need?"

"Names. Plans. Maybe some concrete reason as to why this is necessary." He paused. "And, more importantly, survivors. Someone they might not have begun testing on. Someone we can still bring back home."

Shepard's sigh was worn, tattered, breathy through the comm. "I suppose this is what really separates the shadows from the heroes. I'll speed up the path forward." She walked towards the door, tapped Amadeus lightly on the shoulder. Wordlessly, he stepped aside and she brought out her omni-tool to run a diagnostic on the lock.

The General, beside him, switched off his comm. His chuckle was no less exhausted than Garrus felt. "She likes to convince herself that what she does has no honor."

Garrus switched off his comm as well. He allowed himself a soft laugh in reply. "She does tend to downplay her achievements and exaggerate her mistakes."

"She doesn't like being lauded with glory, of that I'm sure. Otherwise, she would have been plastered everywhere. Still, her actions have no less compassion, understanding, or integrity than any hero I've known. And truthfully, I don't know many." He switched his comm back on, gave Vakarian a knowing nod and motioned with his head for them to move behind the rest of their team.

When the door was seconds from being hacked, Orion immediately lifted his shotgun, pointing it at the door. Beside him, Amadeus had his SMG ready. Garrus took the rear with his own sniper rifle and the General took out his own assault rifle. Shepard still had her omni-tool up but her VI was now doing all the work clicking open the locks on the door. With her left hand, she pulled out her sword—they were covering all ranges of attack now and were prepared for everything as the General signaled them to take cover by the door frames. Shepard was the only one left standing in the middle.

"Allie, when that door opens—take point under cloak. Alert us of what's in there."

"Aye."

"The rest stay behind cover. No one is to move until I give the signal."

Amadeus gave a halfhearted nod compared to Garrus's and Orion's "aye's." Nonetheless, Orion was beside the drell now and if he decided to do anything stupid, Orion's talons were kept scarily sharp.

The doors slid open with a hiss. The cold air that emerged from the other side of the door swept their feet. Shepard, without missing a beat, vanished just as the air hit Garrus's ankles.

Through the comm, there was nothing but static—worse than silence. Garrus saw Amadeus's shaking hands against his SMG, but Orion's hand on his shoulder kept him from bolting deeper into the room. Shepard's cloak could last at most eighteen seconds—with her ability to melt into shadows and her ability for silence, he expected her stealth to last even longer than that.

Instead, the ground shook beneath their feet. Something was making its way toward them, slow and heavy— Garrus can only imagine that it was at least seven to ten times their height to have the weight to make the ground shake this much. What clued them all in was a roar, bestial—large, it echoed into their side of the room as it continued its trudging pace.

"There are three of them. Two aren't moving on the far side of the room—near the main terminal of the facility." Shepard's voice was a whisper above the cold. It was likely all in his head that the chill was seeping through his armor—but a shiver made its way up his spine nonetheless.

"You're the only one with visuals. Descriptions? Possible weak points?"

"Tall, Mako tall. A lot of heft. And armored. I think—I think they used to be turian and something else, from their features. Taking them down will be a huge headache." Her breath was heavy and labored. "They have claws and tech wiring that make up their limbs. They don't look entirely complete. Head and neck look vulnerable but it's a small target in comparison to the rest of them."

"Allie," The general whispered back after a pause. "Do you see any civilians?"

"N-no." She hissed. "Damn, it's cold."

"Is it possible for you to hack into the main terminal with them so close?"

"General, excuse the insubordination, but are you insane?" Even Orion could sound less than stellar when he put his mind to it. "Those things sound massive. One punch and they'd send her straight to heaven."

"I can do it, General. Under cloak, it would give me enough time for a 70% extraction, give or take." Her voiced crackled, her breath sounded heavy. "But one is chained and very close to the terminal that's being protected by a tech barrier. If all of them see me and they all decided to hit the barrier—I won't be able to extract the data we need."

"A decoy it is then. Thank you, Allie. Standby. Move on the signal."

"Signal?"

"I think you'll know when you hear it."

"Hah. This should be good."

"Vakarian, do you have all this on record? The visuals?"

Garrus cleared his throat, dipping his voice to the softest whisper he could muster. "Yes, General."

"All right. Be sure to make this look less dangerous than it actually is."

General Victus reached for one of the grenades strapped along his belt. With a hand signal, he told Orion to move further back and behind the experiments in glass. The other turian nodded and pulled the drell with him. For Garrus, he instructed him to move behind the terminals on the opposite side.

Garrus ran and turned back quickly, watching with all too much awe and fascination as the general pulled out the grenade and lobbed it at the far end of the room, towards the door where they came from. The resulting explosion was loud but empty, no flying shrapnel to blow up anything but the entities inside the main room were alerted—their steps were heavier and faster as they made their way towards them.

Garrus wasn't prepared for their appearance. As Shepard said, they were enormous—about the size of five krogans with hides thick underneath plating, turian plating. But they were crude—the circuitry that could have possibly made up muscle were twisted and some were cut, letting out small currents along their arms and legs with tiny sparks of blue light. As they made their way towards the explosion—they were slow and maybe a little dumb, legs fumbling at the speed of the stalking as their red eyes—more machine than organic— searched for the source of the sound.

Spirits, Garrus wasn't sure they had the resources to deal with one let alone three of them. He spared the General a look—he wasn't called a tactical genius for nothing that was for sure.

"Forty percent." Shepard's voice was loud to Garrus's heightened senses. The General made another hand signal for Orion and Amadeus to enter the bigger facility. Both of them ran in as quickly as they could inside and the General and Garrus followed after them. "I'll pour my tech into it—it'll reduce my shield to thirty percent and I won't be capable of anything fancy tech-wise for a while but it will speed up the download."

"Shut the door." General Victus pulled his assault rifle out of its holster.

"On it, sir." Orion worked quickly over the doors and lock, sealing the two mammoths behind them as quickly as he could.

"Focus on keeping the door shut. If you can load that thing with a few surprises, then do it. Vakarian, assist Allie when she goes visual."

The cold seeped its ways inside Garrus's armor and he shivered as he ducked behind the cover of some cargo boxes next to the General. He was sure this time that this wasn't mental. The entire place was dark, dome-shaped. The cold must have been a way to keep these things from overheating but he could imagine that it wasn't a normal kind of cold if it was making its way into their suits.

"Ten seconds before my cloak wears off."

"More than we hoped for, Allie. What kind of upgrade did you pour into that thing?"

"More than you can afford, Lieutenant Orion." She replied. "The VI is struggling with the size of the data. I'm at fifty percent. Setting up a bot. Going visual—now."

Shepard was mid-flip when she materialized, leaving in front of the terminal a VI that was still extracting the data. Luckily, the bot went unnoticed and the mammoth spotted Shepard instead. Letting out a roar that reverberated throughout the dome-shaped facility, he ran towards her—its weight and strength breaking the chain as easily as Garrus's talons could rip through flesh. This mammoth appeared faster, a little more intelligent as he zoned in on Shepard and attempted to ram her through the wall.

Away from the terminal and with no fear of destroying it, she waited for him to come to her on the far side of the wall. Her two clean flips to the side had the mammoth ramming itself into the wall instead of crushing her frame against it, it let out a roar of pain and the walls shook and echoed. It pushed itself off the wall with one hand, and with a claw outstretched—it aimed a straight punch at Shepard who was right next to it.

Predicting that as well, she jumped atop its claw and made a run towards its shoulder, drawing her sword—it flickered and elongated with orange light. Crouched on its shoulder, she drew her blade high with both hands and swung it down, aiming for the delicate circuitry of its neck.

The mammoth blocked her blow with its three fingered hand, Shepard's sword sliced it off as she back flipped, leaving behind a stump of blue sparks and wires. It let out another howl as Shepard reached for her holster and brought up her Carnifex. Aim a little off in the right hand, she hit the thin plating near the neck rather than its head.

Garrus saw that as an opportunity, he had already equipped the silencer on the barrel of his rifle as he looked through his scope. His visor screened that its armor had been taken down a few notches with its tango with Shepard. Taking aim, he fired two quick rounds, reloading in record speed in between before launching an Overload. The general took a few steps forward to fire at the mammoth as well.

Shepard moved backwards, slowly, with her sword holstered and her SMG drawn instead—a couple more shots to the head and neck from his rifle and the monster's armor was dwindling fast. In a last ditch attempt it swung at Shepard, who evaded it but just barely—bringing down her weakened shield a few notches before falling. No signs from his visor indicated that it was still alive or working.

The air was cold but Garrus's plates burned, he dashed towards Shepard who was kneeling—breathing hard as she stared down at the fallen enemy.

"You all right?"

She managed a small nod. "Grazed my shields. It's likely not going to regenerate anytime soon. Damn." Her breath against the cold air formed a cloud in front of her face as she stood up, putting her SMG back. He looked at the display showing the zero percent of her shields through his visor.

"Allie," The General called. "Check on the download. Vakarian, get a tissue sample of this thing and more visuals. We'll take as much as we can of it back to Palaven. The two are nearly done here and we can move forward."

Shepard sighed. "I'll see if I can procure a map from the download, sir."

"Much obliged."

They both responded with nods. Garrus kneeled down, assessing the body. The plates were definitely turian when he scanned them through his visor. He didn't have his usual kit or his programs from C-Sec but he did take a piece with one of the clean knives Weaver gave him last Christmas. He ran a scan through whatever tissue he could break off. He didn't have the equipment to keep and bring the samples however, but a scan around the room and he noted some lab equipment near the large terminal by Shepard. Another quick scan and he knew they were clean enough to use.

He took a quick glance at the door and saw the three working at it fervently. Garrus wished for the nth time that Erash, Mordin, or even Tali were here. They would have cut through all this tech problems faster. But he smiled because after all of this, he could finally return to Omega. He grabbed a few clear bags before turning back—

"Vakarian!"

The general's voice was the only warning before a huge body came ramming towards him—the table flew along with all the lab-ware. Garrus's shields shattered into nothing as he was pushed against the wall. Watching, the monster raised its large claw to finish him off.

Shepard came from above—she landed with her sword buried through the creature's back, with a yell she twisted it just as the creature screamed—stepping back to reach for Shepard with its claw. How? This thing was supposed to be dead. How? How could it be up again?

Shepard tried to pull out her sword from the monster's body and escape, but the weapon was stuck there. Her face contorted in pain, her one hand reached for her injured right shoulder—ready to jump off before the claw could get her—but she underestimated the creature's speed and it grabbed her, held her by the waist—smashed her shield-less body against the floor three times until her helmet cracked open before flinging her across the room, sliding against the floor with barely any vitals to speak of. He recorded it through his visor in normal speed but he could have sworn, everything had slowed to a near-halt.

Rage, building up in his gut had him reaching for his assault rifle and shooting the monsters down, down until there a nothing but a spent and burnt out clip and a prone and lifeless body. For good measure, he took Shepard's sword from its back and hacked its head from its body. The sound of metal striking metal was shrill, white in contrast to the darkness around him

Garrus ran, kneeling beside Shepard—he checked her vitals first through his visor. It wasn't picking up much but she was alive. He dispensed his medi-gel before the General came running as well.

"How is she?"

"Barely breathing. Medi-gel can't handle the more severe injuries." Garrus steadied his hand as a pool of blood started forming underneath her torso. "The claw must have pierced through. Injuries to the cranium are—fuck, my visor can't read this deeply through medical crap, sir."

The General dispensed the last of his medi-gel before nodding. "Orion, get that VI. We need a map. There's sure to be another EZ we can access that will be closer to our location. We got what we need. Tell Moreau to get the med VI's running and a stretcher. "

She had cracks in her armor, Garrus reached out to try to keep the cold at bay but all he did was get his hands drenched in human blood. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. They were supposed to leave here just fine. They were supposed to have that long talk to figure things out. Shepard—Shepard was supposed to be just fine.

The drell's footsteps were quiet, and with his supply of medi-gel dispensed—he sealed the large open wounds and the bleeding stopped. "If Alice dies, it will be on you."

Garrus knew a threat when he heard one and he knew the voice of mourning when he heard it too. He didn't take his eyes off Shepard even after they extracted her and rolled her into the med-bay.

Edited 06.24.2014


	39. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. It's been about four months and I'm pleased to be back. Many thanks to Elantil for making the editing possible—now is a good chance to go back to those chapters and re-read them as well (if it's been that long).
> 
> Otherwise, this chapter fills in a lot of holes in Shepard's past. But it is a chapter you've all been waiting for. I took some liberties with the tensing, as well, to make for interesting story telling.
> 
> Happy reading!

**Chapter 34**

She hoped that this lack of feeling—no heartbeat pounding, no voice calling, no rising smoke from her gun —would stretch on forever.

Here she had no body, not even a pair of eyes or a nose but she could see and she could smell. She heard the memories approach and take over. If she were honest with herself, she had probably hoped that they would arrive and never leave.

* * *

She is a tiny thing with dark red hair and green eyes. A bullet through her shoulder that hasn't stop bleeding drains her strength. Even with one hand over it, the blood flows out steadily—drenching her arm and clothes. Behind her, she hears the thunder of boot clad feet. She climbs through a pile of debris, into a building along Cross Avenue—known for being a ghost street— the building is down to its skeleton. The dust lifts off the ground as she climbs, getting into her eyes and scratching her throat as she breathes it in. As she slides to the floor, her back against the wall of a pillar—she thinks this the time for the darkness to take over, and she can have some peace at last.

She wakes up to a single lamp light, the mass effect fields within it whirling with a blue glow.

She sits up, gasping, as if she has been underwater. Her shoulder stings but as she reaches for it, she feels the cloth of a bandage.

"When you're healed, leave." A voice from the corner of the room speaks. She swivels at the sound, inquisitive, large eyes meet her own. Not human eyes, not a familiar human voice. She feels the disgust rise up, against her throat as she notices his three fingered hands.

Her shoulder shifts underneath the bandage, and she pauses, blinking.

"Why did you help me?"

"I don't know." He answers. His voice is rather rough for a salarian—not as high pitch as the vids they show in the Red's playhouse. Not the same annoying nasal tone.

"You're a salarian."

"Hah."

"What are you doing on Earth?"

When he stands to his full height, she sees the sharp edge of his dagger glinting against the light of the lamp. "To prepare."

She thought at first that one day, she would be the one to leave him.

Years later, she doesn't expect him to be the one walking away.

" _Abrul_!"

She yells father for the first time. She's surprised that he turns back to look at her. Around them, their house for years is the same castle of rubble. The only difference is that she's sixteen and carries a sword and gun of her own. Where are you going? She wants to ask. Why are you leaving me behind? She wants to beg for answers, she wants him to stay with her.

Instead, she looks down at her feet and grits her teeth to look down at the scars on her hands. "Are you done preparing, _Abrul_?"

He reaches out towards her, she fights the instinct to recoil—she sees the identical scar on his own hand though and recognizes—this hand has hurt her, but it has also healed her. This hand is her master's hand and her father's hand. Reaching, he runs his hand over her hair.

"Rai," He says. "Rai isn't your real name, is it? The name they called you when you were in the Reds. An ominous name."

She doesn't have a name. She has made one up in the spot when she got recruited as a runner for the Tenth Street Reds. But what does that matter now? Her father is leaving her and she doesn't understand why.

"Humans name their children, right?" He whispers. "So, it is only right that I give you a name. A true name."

"I don't—I don't care about a name."

" _Adel_ , daughter, names are important. To the League, to the Legion—names mark the beginning of our destinies." He puts both his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "There are so many things I want you to remember—so many things."

He leaves her behind in their kingdom of rubble, underneath their abandoned building. She switches the lamp on to watch the mass effect fields whirl within.

* * *

_Robin wakes up from a nightmare. Her mother Anita comes inside to cox her to sleep after she hears the yelling. The father of the household passed away five years ago in an eezo explosion. Their pet dog sleeps in the other room. There is school tomorrow and Robin dreams of being laughed at when she's introduced to the class._

* * *

"Crazy asshole." Keiji stares down at Roger. An agent of the Alliance and a double crosser—whom they kill easily the moment he announces his intentions by alerting the security. If Robin knew better, and she should have known better, then they might have been able to avoid the incoming confrontation with Alliance regs. The dark grey walls of the lab seem higher and darker than ever before.

"Fuck, Robin, I'm sorry about this. He was—my friend—eight years is nothing to sneeze at."

She sighs, hand on her hip as she pushes back strands of chocolate brown hair. "Keiji, as if you ever need to apologize to me." She kills the alarm with her omni-tool. Not that it matters, Roger must have alerted Alliance even before they stepped in here. "Take the Intel with you, though, and get out of here. I'll stop them."

"What?" He turns back just as he's about to grab the datapads. "We can both get out of here. I'm no Kasumi but I'm pretty damn fast when we have dogs biting at our butt."

"They'll track us down. Roger had your ID, remember?"

He closes his eyes, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "Fucking traitor."

She beats him to the Intel, slipping the two datapads into his duffel bag. She winks at him. "I don't have anyone looking for me when I get out of here. On the other hand, Kasumi will skin me if you don't make it out of here and I do."

"There's the madman Amadeus."

"Speaking of which," She smiles and pushes Keiji towards the direction of the vents. "Give him my regards, tell him I sent you and that you need a way to escape the guard after you leave this compound. He'll like the challenge."

"He's going to kill me."

"Nonsense. Now, shut up and get out of here."

The Alliance teams sent after them finds Robin tied up to a chair. Roger is still dead, lying in a pool of his own blood. Beside Robin are two datapads which had been short-circuited. In questioning, she tells Alliance that Abraham Rumoi escaped after chaining her to the chair. Roger had burnt the information before they could steal it. They take her to a prison, only eighteen years old, where they intend to keep her for a lifetime.

The lifetime ends when she's brought into a room, her body wrapped in chains, the snail pace is imposed on her by feet in shackles. If she moves faster than a sloth, a wave of electricity would course through her—knock her down to the floor with saliva dripping out of the side of her mouth. It would be embarrassing—Robin learns never to try it again.

"Do you know why you're here?" Captain Hackett stares at her through the scar in his eye, the wrinkles creasing his face.

"What do you mean by here?" They force her to sit on a chair across the captain. The guards leave silently. She isn't fooled by the bare grey walls and the white light above them. There are cameras all around them. Moreover, the sound of the double lock on the door from the outside means they aren't afraid of losing a war veteran but they are afraid that she'll get out of here. "In this room? In this prison?"

"In this room."

"No." She answers quickly. She reigns in the urge to roll her eyes. "How am I supposed to know why?"

"It's because of that stunt you pulled a month ago."

"Ah."

She'd been in prison for six months now. Things were getting predictable, silent. She didn't intend to leave any time soon. Prison had its own charms, the people there were nicer than she thought they'd be. And it seemed they were getting pretty bored too. So she—

"Staging a mass escape." Hackett leans his elbows against the table, slouching. Slouching doesn't suit the uniform, Robin notes, but it makes the man in front of her seem more human. "It's been a month and we still haven't caught half of the ones who got away."

"So, you locked me up because you think I'd try something again?"

"No, we locked you up because the ones we did catch want you dead."

"Oh, captain, you don't have to worry about me."

The look in his eyes was both crystalline and fierce. It was a startling combination. "I'm not worried about you."

She shrugs. She expects a lock of hair to be on her face. Phantom hair, of course, they shaved it off when she was moved to solitary. "So, I've been locked up in the highest security facility. I already know all that. What is it that you really want?"

"Robin—do you really exist?"

She blinks at his question. "Well, I'm right fucking here now, aren't I?"

"You are." He nods. "You're here. But you're not here. The tests came back. We tried to dig up more dirt on you—"

"The unsubtle subtleties of the Alliance—"

"There's nothing on you. Not even from the Shadow Broker."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

A silence reigns over them for a while. She handles it the same way she handles most things— with patience she never realizes she had before. Prison probably helped empty that well of restlessness she felt when her father left her. Plus, the scars on her hands are still fascinating to trace with her eyes.

She sighs. "The broker doesn't know everything. He doesn't have information on someone I'm looking for either. If two people can stay out of sight, I'm sure we're not the only ones." She sniffs. "Now, what is it that you really want from me, Hackett?"

* * *

_Joanie was raised in an orphanage. She has a relationship with Mila, another orphan there. She liked the velvet texture of Mila's tongue against hers—arms locked, bodies flushed. When they get caught one night, Joanie leaves forever—she escapes to Omega with nothing. Joining the Blue Suns, she finds a sense of purpose when they tell her she has the natural capability to aim and shoot._

_Her first important mission is to snipe down Archangel from atop a building. She looks through the scope to find them at the signal of the captain._

* * *

Shepard has two faces.

The face she shows the Dominion, her squad, is a face of compassion—of an older sister and mentor who looks out for them. This face remembers Lor, in her heart of hearts— she is Lorraine, she is Robin. She keeps sacred the teachings, the old songs, the rituals, the art of subterfuge and battle. This face is the artist: the crafter and the canvas.

The second face is the face she shows the Alliance, cold and iron-wrought. This face barely blinks at the crimes she's asked to do in the name of the Dominion, in place of the Alliance. She remembers the fire of the blades, the method that Lor had used to teach and torture her. This face remembers Akuze and the Thresher Maws. This face has lost her best friend, Christine, in battle and manages to escape alive but bleeding without cure. This is the true Shepard—the master of the Dominion, the chief of Interrogation.

When she stands over the dead body, watches the smoke rise up from her gun—these two sides of her overlap. Shepard and Lorraine twist and convulse—meeting, and twisting until there is both and none at once.

This dead body, this body that both Lorraine and Shepard has killed had a life with the name Denise Wilde. She's deemed a threat to humanity and to the Alliance as a genius biotic under mind control.

_She is barely ten years old._

She had been taught and tortured by a Cerberus branch named the Alexander project, one of the many cells in the group whose intentions were bold and wondrous, but whose methods were dark and sinister.

_She is barely ten years old._

Upon raiding the cell, Alliance takes the girl, holds her captive. When Denise Wilde doesn't answer their inquiries, they promise not to harm her. When she doesn't respond to promised kindness, they warn her. When they threaten with violence, she responds with violence and kills a doctor. Said doctor was important to someone high and mighty, someone powerful and angry.

Then they call Shepard.

Shepard knows that biotics are useless without movement—particularly, the use of limbs. She enters the girl's cell—genius that she is—Denise doesn't need to use her limbs to try to hurt Shepard. Just the movement of her eyes sends a small Shockwave that would knock out someone who doesn't expect it.

Shepard expects it, however, and she dodges past the attack—drawing her blade in a reverse grip—she dashes and slices the sight out of the girl's eyes.

Shepard expects answers. The girl sings them easily after that—what had been done to her, where she had been, that she didn't want any of it, help her, let her go. But Shepard isn't there to help, she's only there to get the answers and deliver the Alliance's justice.

She ends Denise Wilde's life with a shot to the head—and leaves.

* * *

She heard the thudding, beyond the memories and in the darkness.

A heartbeat. Hers.

She howled. Her voice reached the spaces and filled it with sound, drowning anything else.

* * *

Guilt often gets the best of her. Shepard determines that it had been a lesson she had not been taught—not everything was entirely her fault. In fact, a lot of things had nothing to do with her.

Still, it doesn't stop her from sitting and staring—doing nothing else but watching people pass. Do they see her? Unlikely, it is something she is taught to control, that she can handle now and do capably.

She is sure by the way she can't seem to stop scratching her wrists, by how heavy the gun has suddenly become—that this is her fault. Denise Wilde's life was in the palm of her hand—and she crushed it in a vice grip, sprinkling the ashes to the wind.

How do you apologize to the dead? With Christine, she had assumed the position of her family's anonymous benefactor. To someone like Denise, who has no one, who would feel the repercussions of her death?

Just the young Rai, who had stumbled on an old salarian—he had her life in the palm of his hand—and yet, he let her live. _The Legion are one. We have no weaknesses._ But this is a weakness, one that hit the very core of her.

"Shepard," She isn't surprised that it's Sara that approaches her first. "You haven't left this spot since Azril and the others left with the Cabal."

"Yeah?"

"It's been five days."

Shepard blinks, slowly. "Oh."

"Shepard?" Sara sits beside her. Shepard would have ordered her to get off the window ledge but she doesn't really have the strength.

"Yeah?"

"What did they m-make you do?"

Shepard bows her head. She suspects that the others of the Dominion knew that she balanced terrible burdens for all of them. Azril's frown every time she is called on during down time, Mur's eye roll every time she has holes in Intel because they were highly classified. No matter how much she decorates the Dominion with fine words—they are nothing short of assassins, working outside of the law for the law. If anything awry were to happen, then they would be made public enemy number one. Even Hackett wouldn't be able to cover up for them.

They are Rai. They are Wilde. No one would know what sort of difference they could make in the world if they were to disappear, right now. Is the Alliance really looking for Lor? Is Hackett delivering on the promises he made with her?

She knows the progress is likely slow, at best, if it exists at all. She knows this, always has. But she is lured by some semblance of normalcy—of not having to change her name, shedding off skin after skin, of the possibility of having a family. It's stupid really.

Everything she's done before this moment—there is no such thing as normalcy for her. It's not something she deserves—how can she possibly think she can have it?

"Shepard?"

"Sara," Shepard clasps her hands together. "What did I tell you when I recruited you for the Dominion?"

Saragael swallows, but nods and looks forward—hands on her lap. "That we no longer existed."

Shepard nods, leaning back against the backdrop of darkness and stars. "When Azril and the others arrive—tell them to gather. I think it's time to really vanish."

* * *

Light nearly penetrated. For a fraction, the spaces turned from black to a strange blue against the light.

But she shut the doors of her mind, raised the walls impossibly high. Nothing could enter now.

* * *

Jane Shepard's position in the Systems Alliance is a high one. A Major, short one more cataclysmic event of being a Captain. The youngest person to be promoted so quickly through the ranks,the youngest to graduate from the N7 program without ever really being in the program, the youngest to lead her own team of Black Ops. Even then, she always has to hold herself back—not too bright because people will notice, not too fast or else people will be too afraid.

There is nothing holding her back when she reaches Omega and she picks a fight with the queen herself. Lorraine has watched whole Districts burn—two of them—the ones with the biggest crime rates, to be sure, but she's aware that there were casualties, civilian ones, that she doesn't want to dwell on.

She sets Omega ablaze. This can call Lor to her—if he is still alive and if he is in Omega—and she needs to know if he is. It also gets the attention of less savory company but that is still part of the fun.

It's not really because she misses him, even if she does. Or if it's because she feels left behind, though, she does.

There is something important she needs to ask him. Something he needs to answer.

But right now, she doesn't think about whether her efforts to find him will succeed. Right now, she's waiting for someone to arrive—last night, she was attacked by a biotic, not something Shepard often deals with. Though, her opponent lacked combat experience so despite having superior artillery, she is no match for Shepard's—Lorraine's speed. Right when she was going to deliver the killing blow, another biotic attacked her with a grenade.

While she ran away, she realized exactly who was chasing her, and laughed. She got away and waited a few days before asking that biotic over to meet her atop one of the high rises in Gozu.

"Shepard," Kandros, the face of a friend, shows up as she's watching the districts burn. "I should have known it was you we were chasing down."

"Kandros," She smiles. "To think that two rogue soldiers would end up in the toilet of the galaxy."

Kandros shrugs, walking, she stops to stand beside her. "You hurt Liselle pretty bad."

"Liselle?" Shepard looks up until recognitions lights up her eyes. "The asari you saved from me? Hm, she's a little lacking."

"She's important to Aria."

"So, she's important to you?"

Kandros looks down. Embarrassed? Likely by the click of her mandible, Shepard smiles. She opens her mouth to—

"Why are you doing this?"

She swivels, turning as Omega and Kandros vanish. She is in her room, and she is Shepard again and not Lorraine. Standing before her, Azril is in his Alliance blues—or grays—and they suit him well.

Shepard closes her eyes, smiles. "Doing what?"

"Ending the Dominion. Leaving. Hiding?" His tone isn't accusatory; it's pure curiosity and wonder. She has always liked that about him. "I suppose hiding is a strong word."

"We're all hiding." Shepard shrugs. "Technically, we're all criminals. Once we abandon the Alliance, we'll all be in danger. Except, you, of course—relatives in high places have its perks."

He frowns and sighs. "Of course."

She grimaces. "Sorry to bring it up."

Azril chuckles, his teeth are pearl white and straight. His blue eyes light up with a mix of both amusement and even a little sadness. "Not your fault."

She turns to the door when she lifts the backpack over her shoulder. She's the last of her team to leave for good reason. She's made arrangements for all of them, save Azril, to be safe for a few years. It will be up to them to make sure they stay safe. "I guess this is goodbye."

He smiles back at her, putting out his hand for her to shake. She does give him that distant handshake. It doesn't feel right or wrong, despite their history and the things they might have been. Just normal. Inevitable.

"Shepard."

She turns back before she's able to touch the door panel, her head tilts to the side. "Yeah?"

He walks up to her, stands closely in front of her. "I know our—engagement was mostly a formality. So that your—origins— wouldn't be so questionable to the higher ups." He chuckles at her shrug. "And I know that we would have been married for those reasons."

She nods.

He looks away before taking a deep breath to face her. His blue eyes were deeper, around the edges they were turning puffy and red. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love."

Is she in love? She is attracted to him—of course, Azril has blue eyes, a square jaw, and dark brown hair. He's well-mannered. A dark contrast to what he was before she had him recruited to her team. But this is him, always, not the troublemaker before he became part of the Dominion.

Is she in love with him? She feels deeply for him, she wouldn't have minded growing old and raising a family with him. Was that love? No, not really. Not completely.

He knows this too, because he reaches out for her hands. "Don't hide for too long, Jane." The pads of his thumbs trace over her gloves where her scars would be. "For all it's worth, I wanted—"

_I want to know more about you._

Azril is gone, her room is gone. There is hush, until she hears that thudding noise again.

_I just—I just never want you to be afraid of me._

_I want to know more about you._

She's tired but the voice rouses her. Something about later. Something about meaning that very word when she says it—she doesn't want to back down anymore. She doesn't want to hide.

She's tired, but—she wants to know more about him too.


	40. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard meets her unlikely gatekeeper between dreams and reality.

Chapter 35

She pulled herself from the dreams—sweet rest beckoned her back—but she could do what Orpheus couldn't, as Lor had once done, and walk out of the tunnel and into the light without looking back.

She adjusted from blindness, noting the white, clinical walls of her room—hospital? Her bed was larger than the standard single, and she noted the high ceiling and grand window that made up the entirety of her wall to the left. Manor? Whose Manor? Why?

Closing her eyes again, she tapped into her other senses. Her nose came first—she expected staleness and the scent of medi-gel. Instead, the fragrance of fresh, blue bell-shaped flowers on her right—its fragrance was somewhere between the zest of lemons and a hint of rose. Her hearing noted the blipping of her vitals on a discrete machine to her left, emitting a faint green light as she read her pulse and sugar levels—she followed the tubes and wires to her left arm and noted that she didn't have any bandages save the ones securing the wires. She awakened every nerve ending of her skin, noted the she wasn't wearing a cotton hospital frock. Instead, she wore something thicker but softer—feather? Fleece? Nonetheless, it was little too wide on the shoulders and snug around the waist.

"Hello."

The dual toned voice was a female's, turian—there was a sense of relief and danger mixed in with the thought that she was likely back in Palaven but the first person who noted she was awake wasn't someone she knew.

"Your breathing pattern is very convincing. But I've been by your bedside longer than anyone, so I know that something has changed and—look." Of course she didn't turn to look, but she heard the tapping of long talons against the steel of the machine. "Your heart rate appears to be normal for someone who's asleep but—the patterns are different as well. Someone less observant may not notice.

"You don't have to open your eyes. Only listen." She heard the airy scrape of the chair against the carpet, and a sigh as the turian sat down. "You are in the Vakarian Villa. My name is Aelia Vakarian—I'm Garrus's mother."

Garrus' mother.

Rai had only known Aelia Vakarian by reputation. According to her Intel, Aelia Vakarian was a savant-class engineer. Her genius led to the formulation of the first stealth class frigate, the Normandy SR-1 and the Tantalus Drive Core. She had been familiar with the woman's inventions and blueprints. After all, Lor was a fan.

As Shepard, she knew Aelia Vakarian as a client's assignment (though not vice versa, however, she had been on good terms with Aelia's late father). Saragael would have killed to meet her—in fact, she still hadn't really forgiven Shepard for sending Ariel on the assignment as her bodyguard. Before the end of the turian's career, there were rumors that Aelia was working on another Drive Core, smaller scale—that could rival her work on the Normandy. On recent updates, Legacy knew Aelia Vakarian was supposed to be bedridden and suffered from the Corpalis Syndrome.

Why was Aelia here when she should be—resting, sleeping, trying to get better.

"It's around 2 a.m Galactic Standard, I—visit you when everyone let's their guard down." There was a little humor there and a conspirator's whisper. "I wanted to see what you were like. To be honest, I was only going to come by once or twice but I've become a little obsessed since you arrived here a week ago." She leaned against the bed. "The household has been instructed to call brass when you wake up—but hell and heaven, I'm not going to do that."

She restrained herself from laughing, from opening her eyes—a sick woman or not, Aelia Vakarian was a little more devil may care than what was reported, probably where Garrus got most of his rebellious character.

"You're probably a little confused so let me explain from the beginning." She cleared her throat, dual flanging with it. "You've been asleep for about two weeks, five days and thirteen hours. For the first week you were in Gregor Saber Hospital, Palaven's finest. During that time it was my son who was sitting beside you—he's been darting around for whatever secret mission you guys were on while you slept and when he was free he'd sit, patiently, waiting for you."

"You'll have to pardon my lack of details and my language—but shit hit the damn fan. All I know is that it has something to do with that drell—Amon? Amen? Garrus tried to fix it but then he got some news from Omega. He left about four hours ago. Now, you're probably thinking: 'Of course he left, he'd choose them over me.' Am I right?"

Again, she had to resist the urge to nod. Of course it was a logical conclusion to reach: Garrus made a home in Omega and raised a team, a family, a legion. If all her friends were pitted against Lor, wouldn't she choose Lor as well?

"Well, he didn't leave immediately—not until I told him to go. He said he didn't want to leave. So I told him I would take care of you. Of course, since I was the one who suggested you move in the first place." Aelia Vakarian's weight on the bed shifted. "If you want to know why I allowed that, you'll have to keep pretending to be asleep. If no one discovers you're awake, I'll come back tomorrow."

It was hard to find any rest at all, even after Aelia Vakarian left.

* * *

She was being baited, she knew that much. Being spun into a well-designed trap, a place where her questions could be answered. She knew this more than anyone: she had manipulated supposed firends the same way, thrown a red-herring, gave only the little picture but not the big one that encompassed it.

The entire day, she forced herself to be somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She heard the nurse checking on her every other hour, the asari doctor who gave new instructions to make sure her IV fluids were aiding the internal repairs as "the skin weave is a little difficult to grow unless you have too much money to spare" (whoever afforded her a skin weave must be a saint).

Aelia Vakarian was a woman after her own heart, frankly, she didn't know if Garrus would be happy to hear that or not. She had only gotten about two hours of real sleep when she heard the scrape of the chair and the weight on the side of the bed. Then Aelia Vakarian's dual-toned voice as she talked about—everything. Mostly, about Garrus and her family.

One night of that, then two.

Then three nights since she had regained consciousness. Every night, she expected answers and every night she was denied.

"I know you can't see it but this is Garrus when he was four—he liked to chew at the ends of my skirt, the strange kid."

"Oh, this is one of Solana—Sol—my baby girl. She's always been such a—what's the human expression? Sourput? Sorepun?"

"I met Titus when I was teaching in the Cipritine Academy—only place for a proper Engineer or researcher to be. He took a course there—awful at tech but industrious. Managed to pass even with the lowest scores in class. Don't tell Garrus or Titus will never hear the end of it."

She had just about had it. She opened her eyes for the first time in days—allowed it to adjust to the minimal amount of light. Pulling herself up to prop her back against the headrest, she glared at the door to wait for Aelia Vakarian to arrive. She calmed herself only by listening to the easy bleeping of the machine. But she kept the anger and the impatience at a threshold, waiting to hurl it at the older woman. She needed answers—if Aelia didn't tell her anything soon she would have to get it from the General or Mad (wherever they were).

Dawn approached, still Aelia didn't arrive.

Did she know she had broken her promise? Was she testing her? Teasing her?

A woman after her own heart, indeed. She could hear Muriel laughing about the karmic powers that finally found a way to punish her.

After the fourth night Aelia still had not arrived, by this time she was fuming as she pretended to sleep. Her doctor walked in to do the daily check-up when someone else came in.

"Dr. V'dora." A nasal, dual tone—salarian, probably about thirty years old. She heard his feet stop near her beside.

"Dr. Quiton." She heard her doctor respond, the blue light from her diagnostics switched off with a blip. "How is Aelia Vakarian today?"

"Stable. Not much better." His tone was sad. "STG tech is doing all it can for her. The progress is minimal—at best."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

There was the sound of feet shuffling and a pause of silence. "If you can tell this to Titus Vakarian."

Her asari doctor sighed. "Hard to deal with a former C-Sec officer?"

"Painful to see a great man be let down."

"I see. Lead the way then, doctor."

* * *

"How—how did you get in here?"

It wasn't easy—having to drag the machine (luckily it was portable with the wheels) as quietly as she could and then hacking the system so that it wouldn't set off an alarm and keep the pulse steady. She also had no clue which room would be Aelia's. The only clue she had was that the old turian had said that she had agreed to take care of her when Garrus left so maybe she was in the closest found out that Aelia was right across her—no wonder no one knew she had been stealing into her's for days now.

Now that she was here—panting a little heavily and sweat building on her forehead—she just felt sorry rather than angry. "I walked."

"No one noticed you?"

She looked down again at her comfy gown and shrugged. "The cameras malfunctioned for a few seconds—not like they would notice that, huh?"

Aelia chuckled under her breath, soundless. She approached the head of the bed, one hand on the stand of her machine. Initially, she had arrived to do some yelling and demand some questions finally be addressed. But Aelia Vakarian's plates lacked the steel shine of other turians—her blue-silver eyes were watery, and her entire body was quivering.

"I thought you would be angry."

"I am. But I guessed that you never intended to tell me anything so soon. I expected too much."

Aelia blinked up at her. Then, the old turian motioned for her to sit on the bed, patting her side. She looked away, around the room until a three fingered hand with blunted talons reached for her arm and pulled her down.

"I wanted you to know him. And I didn't want you to think of leaving without knowing." The older turian coughed under her hand before clearing her raspy throat. "I doubt he talked about himself much."

"The same secrecy was returned."

Aelia laughed. "I can tell. You were secretive, I'm sure, but not dishonest." She propped herself up against the headrest. "I've met many dishonest people— never been tricked by them, for sure, as he might have been tricked. I'm afraid that I didn't teach my children enough about—people. Only about machines." She let out one of those airy chuckles. "The heart of a machine—is delicate, but true. It doesn't deceive its creator."

"Hah, tell that to the Reapers." Aelia blinked up at her. "I know you must have hacked into the Citadel files or Va—Garrus most have told you about them."

"He has. And I have hacked." She nodded, weakly—but there was a glow in her eyes that was feverish and a bright, burning blue. "But we didn't create them. And they are machines no longer—only people with metal forms."

She only nodded in reply, noting the wideness of the bed—a little bigger than the one in her own room. There were warmer covers and the thicker blankets and still Aelia's body trembled. Here, a woman made of supposed-steel with a mind beyond any of her peers, sat shivering against the phantom cold of her sickness. On the other side of the galaxy, a machine with the thinking capacity beyond human comprehension—immune to disease, immune to empathy—planned the destruction of all those unlike him. Yet, Aelia wanted to understand her enemies and the little sparkle in her eyes at the wonder of their creation. Not that a Reaper would see that, not that it would stop it from killing her or anyone.

The irony wasn't lost on her. And she squirmed above the soft, velvet blanket. "Why did you want me to know more about Garrus?"

"Well, you're in love with him, aren't you? I wanted you to know what you were getting into—no regrets, as humans like to say."

She felt her throat constrict and all the air in her lungs tried to escape at once. Aelia, though, looked at her with a strange glow in her eyes and with a mandible pulled up into a predatory smile that reminded her of Garrus's own overly-confident one.

"I've decided to invest in you, of course." A sure nod complimented the sure smile. "That's the only reason why you're receiving Vakarian protection. I don't think I'm going to be around for much longer and I need to know that my family is surrounded by the right people."

"But I—We're not—" She frowned. "You're not allowed to say you aren't going to live longer. Not with salarian aid."

Aelia reached under her pillows and pulled out a box made of metal—white-gold and sapphire blue in color that fit perfectly in the middle of her palm. "Here."

"What is this?"

"Something Erash and I have been working on together. If you flip this switch here," With a flick, the mechanisms of the box became a little wider but still no bigger than her entire palm. "Flattens to about 0.8 mm. To switch it on—" She pointed at the pendant where the League of One's insignia rested. "That pendant, down to the etchings, fits this space here."

"How did you—"

"Erash made the mold for the insignia, of course, we also knew to whom my son would give it to. The mold has been destroyed now. There are no worries someone else can switch it on. Even Erash can't recreate every engraving perfectly."

The tiny machine was well-thought out, the feel and design had an artisan's touch to it. As all of Aelia Vakarian's creations did—perfection is the combination of form and function, she once told the Cipritine news reporters in her interview about one model of the asari's frigate line, Valkyria. One of many masterpieces Aelia created.

"It contains—memories. Pictures, video clips, blue prints. Everything. My life's work. The things others have shared with me. My life." Aelia sighed. "A span of nearly fifty years fits into this tiny piece of hardware. It's hardy, for sure." She chuckled airily. "So don't worry about changing your lifestyle for it. It's been tempered in Cipritine glass and steel from Kahje."

"Why," She swallowed. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"I wanted to give it to Garrus, actually. But—I don't know if he's going to be back before—"

"You can fight the sickness."

Aelia shook her head, no. "No. And—he doesn't need my guidance. Not as much as I thought he would."

"You could leave this with your daughter, your husband—anyone but me."

"Why not you?"

"I'm—I'm a complete stranger! You have no reason to trust me. I could sell this. Do you know how much your inventions cost in the black market? Just hacks of what you've created sell for thousands and even millions of credits. How am—how can you just give me something this important— just like that?"

If she hadn't hacked into the vital signs machine—it would have been beeping like crazy by now. The silence was filled with a fake and steady pulse of her machine, and her ragged breathing as she held on to the tech in her tightening fist.

Aelia, in response, waited until she had calmed down. Smiling, she reached out to cover one of her hands with her own. She didn't know the touch was coming but she didn't flinch. "They called you all sorts of names—Legacy, Allie, Alice—but what is a name but another limitation, right?" She inhaled. "When the galaxy decided to retreat back into the safety of their lies—you took up the mantle. You waited for me, patiently, for enough nights that would have made anyone furious. I know that when my son was about to die—you rescued him at the cost of your own life."

"I did everything for selfish reasons."

"Selfish? You searched for proof and allies to fight against invulnerable and invisible enemies because you wanted to galaxy to be safe for you and your loved ones. You waited for more information because you trusted that I would tell you. You saved my son because you love him. Well? Tell me I'm wrong."

Of course she couldn't, even if she felt her face flush. How can Aelia just say such embarrassing things without feeling, well, embarrassed?

Aelia nodded after a few seconds, as if she expected to win the verbal duel. "Frankly, I'd rather know my hero is mortal through and through—and not a person in the guise of a god." She nodded again. "I want to bequeath to you everything for my own selfish reasons, as well. I can't burden my family with it. A stranger—a stranger who really loves my son will have to do. And because I know the feelings are mutual— if you ever feel like giving up on him then let the memory of me weigh down on you."

She glared, a true one but Aelia waved it off.

"You can admire a stranger. You can even love one. But the mother in me knows Garrus hasn't made the best choices when it comes to love—and I finally approve of this one and she's being all stupid and flighty about it. And said stupid son doesn't know the meaning of words either so he's just flapping around like a dying _fesca._ "

"What—"

"Garrus records a lot of things. Sadly, some of them reveals the dumb things he says. Or all the missed opportunities. Ugh, I cringe inside. I think to myself 'I must have been this dense when Titus had been courting me, now I really pity him.'"

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm sure he didn't intend anyone to see or hear them."

"Then he shouldn't have them under heavy encryption and complicated passwords. Really, they just draw me in like krogan to quads." Aelia shook her head but she had that predatory smile. "What? What's with that face?"

"Nothing. Just—you don't even know if anything will come out of it. We may have the same feelings but actions are a different matter." She drew her hand away from the older woman's warm palm. "Nothing can come out of all of this, in the end."

"Hm." Aelia slipped back inside the cover of her blankets. "One of these days—I'll forget everything. You and this conversation. The few days we've spent together. Does it mean that nothing has transpired? Maybe the two of you never end up the way I hope— it is still statistically possible, given how awkward you two are."

"Hah. Understatement."

"Still. Even as strangers—I have come to regard you with more love than I thought I could afford these days. For days, I thought how nice it would be if we had lived in better times and if our peoples had a better history. Nonetheless, I have grown attached to you—and I don't even know what your name is." Aelia rested her hand on hers again. "But I will trust you, as you have trusted me. Learn to give yourself the same trust."

She nodded, slowly. Aelia gave her another one of those smiles before she closed her eyes— she stayed until she knew the older turian was asleep before walking about to her own room. She fastened the tech to the necklace around her neck before she fixed her vital signs machine.

The next day, the doctors found her awake, pawing the armor they had repaired and left on the far table. She slipped her gloves back on, before she asked them to inform General Victus that she was ready to talk.


	41. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legacy of One will now update every other Friday, around 10pm-11pm GMT +8. Like clockwork.
> 
> Of course, special circumstance (like this week) will force me to post earlier or later. I'll be busy next week, so early chapter! See you August 15.

It didn't take them long to assemble. The General was there, as well as Orion. Another turian—and by the stern look on his face coupled with the blue colony markings, she was sure it was Titus Vakarian. He was a little—different from how Aelia had described him to be and different from the way Garrus had complained about him. Something about his eyes was not as stern as she imagined and not as goofy as she was told. How two incredibly different sides could exist in one person was something she was used to—but she didn't expect the same sort of dishonesty from a Vakarian.

Even more out of place was a female turian, trailing behind them—the blue colony markings marring her face as well. One side of her mandible pulled up in the turian version of a scowl after turian gave her a once over. Solana Vakarian—just as charming as the mother described.

"What's been happening?" She finally asked, because for whatever reason they've all decided to keep their silence, even after they've all made themselves comfortable around her room.

General Victus nodded. "We've implicated South Pearl enough that they've closed down—but Dreggs and all the higher level management have gone missing. We've assigned investigative squads but it seems their tracks have gone cold."

"All the people working there?"

"The _Dreas_ and all people working there are being interrogated. However—they don't seem to know anything. Or, are convinced that they've done nothing wrong." He tapped into his omni-tool. "Investigations into the Alliance Commander's work two years ago called it Indoctrination."

"If they were involved."

He nodded. "The likelihood grows with every account and every piece of evidence we uncover, little as that is. A team is there as we speak—we're trying our damnedest to scrape every clue we can salvage from there."

"So, it's possible we were all lured to the lab—and they hoped they would get rid of us while we were there along with the evidence."

"It seemed like it—only the job they did in Impera doesn't seem as thorough. A rushed escape." He brought up a few holos of the lab and some statistics and faces of people whom they knew were involved. "We've studied the Intel we extracted from the lab in Impera. Your team in Thessia was also deployed at around the same time, correct? To track another trafficker in Tevura?" The General waited for her nod. "A few days after you were hospitalized—they called in, your pilot recorded their message in a VI but I'll give you the gist of it—it seems the lab in Tevura was wiped off the map. Traces of eezo covered the debris—nearby wildlife and fauna incinerated into nothing but dust. Science says an explosion caused by the manipulation of Element Zero. Common sense screams biotic explosion."

She accessed her files via her omni-tool and did find the message and the recording—she'd listen to it when everyone was gone. "What were we able to extract from the lab in Impera?"

"Right after the evac, we looked through the files—useless. No encrypted files of any kind, no hidden messages—we had the best take a look at it." He turned his eyes towards the door for a moment. No doubt, he was referring to a certain someone in the room across her own. "However, there were messages in the back log that links the labs together and— an audio clip."

"Of what? A message?"

"Several voices were in it. It seems to be a surveillance sweep. However, one portion was particularly loud and clear." Titus Vakarian replied instead of the General. "But no one can understand it. We've installed all the dictionaries into our VI's and still haven't found the language."

"Do you have the recording with you now?"

The General spoke through his comm and the door opened, about four people in heavy armor walked in with a terminal. When they left, Solana stood by the door to lock it thoroughly. Orion by the door did a full scan for bugs and gave Solana a thumbs up when everything checked out. She looked at her father first and when he nodded, she accessed the terminal—then pressed a button to play the recording.

There were several voices, mostly turian and asari—as was expected since it may have involved the abductees taken to the two labs. Most of it just trifles; small talk. Timing it, she counted the first minute of the audio clip and—and waited. She predicted it would be in Prothean, since they seemed to be the catalysts of Commander Alenko's mission. From the relic she found nearly two years ago in Blue Suns' clutches, she and Liara have tested that she could understand and read the language just as Alenko could after he touched the beacon in Eden Prime.

" _Adel,_ daughter _."_

She fought the instinct to react to his voice and practice served her well as she tilted her head in confusion.

" _Though distance and time separates us, our creed, our_ Fohral _binds us as one. As League, as Legion—we are of the same breath, the same air. We ask for the wisdom of our fathers and the strength of our brothers._

" _Adel, I ask you—"_

The recording stopped.

She tried not to look alarmed, but Solana's furious tapping at the terminal covered for any slip up. "Is something wrong?"

"The recording isn't supposed to stop there." Solana dove deep into the system if the holos were anything to go by. "Spirits, a whole twenty seconds were cut off."

"Do you know the language he was speaking, Alice?"

She loosened the hold she had on the bed sheet under the blanket. Did she have to lie and pretend that she didn't understand? If not, then how to word it so as not to incriminate the Legion? Right now though, she looked down at her fully healed body—the warm blanket and the fluffy pillow behind her back.

"Yes, it's—an old language. Not the Protheans though. Younger." She looked at all their faces save Solana's who was still trying to recover the data. "I have a few very close friends who can speak a few words of it and understand a little but only two people alive are still fluent in it. Myself and," She exhaled. "My father."

"Did it have any information on the labs? Of the whereabouts of the perpetrators?"

Again, she shook her head. "Only part of a prayer."

"Any luck finding the rest of the audio clip, Solana?" Titus Vakarian asked. A subtle tension filled the air—knowing now that they could have someone understand and decode it but knowing someone or something had deliberately clipped it out. She felt the impatience, the helplessness—maybe many times over—at the fact after more than ten years of searching for Lor, she might find him and find him alive.

"Hello." It wasn't Lor's voice that came out of the terminal, but the dual tones of Amadeus. She restrained herself from looking skyward and rolling her eyes. "If you are attempting to look for the rest of clip, don't bother. I have it with me. As Alice might say, this is typical Amadeus behavior—and she might all call you idiots for letting your guard down.

"But I am not doing this purely out of habit, out of spite or malice—but just as you cannot remove the poison from a scorpion's tail when it intends to catch prey, I admit that I am also doing this for selfish reasons." There was a rustling on the other side of clip for a moment. "Choose, Alice: find me and find him—or stay."

Now, that explained why she had not seen Mad even once since she woke.

She had never wanted to destroy anyone so badly as she did then. He wasn't only dangling the only proof that Lor might still be alive but as also hampering an investigation of intergalactic proportions. Not to mention it was—it was just so damned uncalled for. She would have screamed if she was by herself.

The General looked about ready to return to his barracks and smack a few recruits over the head. Crossing his arms, they all heard the audible clicking of Orion's mandibles and Solana just—tapping furiously against the interface and finding nothing.

"It's because of that fight." It was the senior Vakarian who spoke, only leg crossed over the other and eyes fixed at something interesting under her bed. The same sort of thoughtful look Vakarian wore when he was brooding.

"Fight? What fight?"

"My son and the drell had an argument. We had been—instructed—by someone high up the Hierarchy to move you here. And my son had been in charge of your transfer. The drell didn't like it."

She could imagine how that went. And she knew that 'someone high up the Hierarchy' also meant Aelia Vakarian. Really if anyone could outrank both the former Chief Prosecutor of C-Sec and a Palaven General with enough stars to litter the sky it would be the creator of tech that kept both them and their teams alive.

She sighed, leaning back "You have my word that the information there is likely personal. Continue the search efforts. I'll deal with Amadeus when I find him."

"There's another issue." Titus blurted out suddenly.

The General looked at him, blinking. Solana also seemed surprised because she sat up straighter. Curious, she tilted her head. "What is it?"

"It's Garrus—we haven't heard from him since he left. It's been too long. I told him that when he landed he needs to send us a message."

"Since when does Garrus listen to anything we say?" Solana muttered but it was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear before crossing her arms.

"And?" She answered with a nod and tried not to squirm on her bed.

"I was told to tell you." He stood up. "Nothing more."

"I see."

They talked more on details, and the possibility of taking this to the Citadel as proof that something—Reapers, Collectors, whatever—was doing something not only against the humans but other races. When they all left, she sent a message to Kandros to head to Palaven to replace her position here and let Sara take care of politics in Thessia and Ilium.

She needed to get to Omega, if not now, then soon.

* * *

"Leaving?"

"Aelia," She smiled as she entered the older woman's room dressed in newly repaired armor and armed with a sword. "I wanted to thank you, for everything—giving me a place to heal. Giving me, well, your blessing."

Aelia waved off her comment. "If you're really thankful, then just get it on with my son already."

"I'll, uh, try." She coughed into her hands, part of her laughing. The other part wanted to be buried underneath the ground. Were mothers really so—open? "I'll be boarding my ship. But my helmsman would like to meet you. Could I arrange that?"

"Oh sure," She blinked. "Just don't let Titus know."

She grinned as she sent Joker a message via omni-tool. "You know how I like a challenge. Though, I don't think my helmsman will like the risk as much. But he loves your work. He'll die running here if it means getting to meet you."

"Please don't let it come to that. The smell of human blood is—vile. Frankly, I prefer krogan." She rolled her eyes at Aelia's winning smile. Typical that the son had inherited his mother's crude sense of humor. "May I ask the name of your vessel? I _will_ judge you based on its creator."

She rolled her eyes again, moving closer to the bed. Joker could take a while, he'd have to dodge roll through security somehow, but he would do it. "The _Temperament_."

Aelia froze, a whole five seconds passed as if she had stopped listening, possibly even stopped thinking. "The _Temperament_? My _Temperament_?"

It was her turn to blink at the older woman. "There were rumors that it was based on your design but— it was black market. Your creations barely—"

"You're flying my _Temperament_? The twin to the _Reverent_?" Aelia smiled before she barked out laughing. "Maybe I'm not too ill to believe that we've been called to one another. When you have the time— open that locket I gave you and look into the fourth book. Just follow my instructions—you'll like what's in store. Just don't tell the Council. They won't."

Her hand hovered above the pendant and the tech hanging around her neck. Smiling, she reached out for the old turian's hand. "I wish there was more I could do for you."

Aelia's winning smile sank at that, she looked down at their hands and returned her hold. "There is one thing."

"What is it?"

"Tell me your true name." Aelia said, barely above a whisper.

"I— can't. It's dangerous. And you'll—"

"I may just end up forgetting it— I know. But I want to know, right now— for as long as I can remember you." Aelia used whatever strength she had to pull her closer. "None of your secrets will ever escape from me."

She'd been asked her true name before by numerous people. People whom she counted as friends for many years, people who tried to bargain their way into her favor. People she felt indebted too. Still, she never told anyone her name— only Lor knew it. And herself. Just as they had kept their old language between them. Many times, she's told others that her true name was lost like history, and old books, and other fleeting memories. Many times, it was kept from them for her safety or their safety.

Nonetheless, she leaned over to whisper in Aelia's ear— just a few minutes before Joker ran and slammed the panel doors behind him shut. Panting, and sure that he had broken more bones than he'd like but by the huge smile on his face and the flush on his cheeks the pain was worth it.

Just five minutes ago, only two other people knew who she was. But now, even if it was just until tomorrow or another short week— there were three.


	42. Interlude V

**Interlude V: A Multitude of Voices**

"Hey." She whispered. "You finally picked up."

"Nalah?" Legacy's—Rai's voice was—refreshing. Nalah coughed instead of the laugh she intended to produce. "Have you been trying to call? I'm sorry I was—indisposed."

"It's okay," She smiled. It wasn't a vidcall so Legacy wouldn't know she was smiling but she hoped that it translated somehow. "You're here now."

"Nalah? What's wrong?"

Nalah still kept up that same expression. "There's been—an incident."

* * *

When Nalah saw Sidonis Lantar through her café window, walking next to a bunch of Blue Sun thugs and not looking the least bit threatened to be walking with them—she knew something was up. She didn't pursue it straight away, Archangel business wasn't necessarily her business—but Frederic had been complaining about the tensions in HQ between Sidonis and Mel, and now that she had moved to fight with the Talons. Now, there was friction between Erash and Sidonis.

Although Erash was—prickly, it wasn't an easy thing to get into a fight or argument with him. He'd actually have to care about your existence, first. As far as Nalah knew, Erash only really cared about the boss and Legacy and was just fine with everyone else except Sensat. And he didn't give a rat's ass about Sidonis. For him to care would either mean they were actually friends now or he had pissed Erash off.

More the latter, Nalah knew people—it had been her gift. And Sidonis had a devious streak that he could barely keep in place. For someone as straightforward and as honest as Erash—and without someone like the boss to be a bridge between them—they were going to clash at some point.

More than clash, judging by how frequently she'd seen Sidonis walking around with the Blue Suns.

She couldn't talk to her husband about it, not yet. She'd have to take the lead on this one and ask the turian herself.

"You sure you want to go alone? At least take Mei with you or something?"

Nalah plopped Garret on her husband's lap. Of course, she didn't want it to look like she was doing anything suspicious, but she wanted her child to be safe. What safer place but the HQ, she thought. With a hand on her hip, she took a short peek of amusement at Vortash and Mierin who were flirting by the kitchen counter.

"You really want me to interrupt their love-fest, dear?"

"Ugh, it's been getting a little sickening lately. So of course I do, Nahlie."

"Don't be rude, Butler. Besides," Sensat smile was hidden behind her hand of cards. "Your wife deserves a break."

"Ugh, fine." He supported their son's back with one hand and secured his cards with another. "Let's just get on with the game, okay?" Monty, Frederic, Sensat, Weaver, and Ripper were playing Skyllian Five. Krul was tinkering with some new tech. Grundan was still upstairs, napping if the loud snoring from his bunk was an indication.

Nalah heard the doors to the surveillance room slide open. Erash, eyes blinking rapidly as he ran down the stairs—regarded her with a nod. "I've finally been patched through to the Talons. I'm going to meet with Mel at Solus's Clinic."

"All the way at Gozu?" Krul looked up from his tinkering. "Alone?"

"Yeah. I sent the boss the memo and now he's on his way back too."

"I heard some trouble's been brewing there." Nalah frowned.

"Yeah," Erashed sniffed, hooking a belt of pistol clips around his waist from the armoury near the entrance. "It's the only neutral zone we know of that likely won't have an ambush waiting for us."

Nalah frown only grew bigger. "I don't think Erash knows how to really use a gun."

"What? All batarians know how to use a gun! Right, Erash?" On cue, they turned to look at Erash who shrugged and began walking towards the exit. "Besides, he's batarian. They barely get into trouble in Omega."

"Not to mention," Monty put a card down that made Ripper cuss. "You said the boss is on his way back. We can wait for him before we decide to go politicking around."

Nalah put her hands on her hips. "What is wrong with you guys? Getting complacent because the boss hasn't been back for months now?"

"More like fuckin' tired." Ripper muttered, reaching for his back pocket for a cigar and a lighter. "Haven't had decent rest since Sidonis is tryin' ta kill us."

Sensat put her cards down, frowning. "We should be more understanding. He's trying to fill the boss's shoes."

"Tryin' ta fill his shoes? Or tryin' ta replace him?" Ripper lit his cigar, looking away for a moment to exhale the smoke. "I wanna be well rested when the boss gets back to send us to do real work. Not just play compromise with the merc bands here."

Nalah sighed. She could understand that sentiment. She was, after all, about to follow Sidonis's trail and find out what the hell he'd been doing behind everyone's back. "I get it. But at least keep your comms open if he needs back up." She kissed her husband on the cheek and patted Erash's shoulder. "I'll see you all later."

"Say bye to mommy, Garry." She waved back as her husband took their child's hand, trying to get him to wave. She saw Garret smile and laugh before she left the base.

* * *

"You really screwed up, Sidonis."

Nalah gasped. She hadn't ran that much since her days as the Queen of the Reds. And she wasn't in New York, she was in Omega—her time as a rebel was done and she was supposed to have retired from all this running.

Still, handling a gun hadn't changed, it came as naturally as it did as breathing and while Sidonis couldn't stop his hands from shaking, she had already popped the empty clip from her sidearm and loaded a new one. She let the chamber hiss with heat—cooling it down as they treaded down one of the empty alleys.

"You really screwed—"

"I know, Nalah! I know!" Finally, after fumbling with his gun and his silence, he managed to retort. Nalah rolled his eyes when he leaned against the wall, hands on his head. "But how was I supposed to know—"

"That they were going to blindside you? Fucking common sense, turian. You were dealing with Blue Suns and Eclipse." She closed her eyes. "I can't believe you even tried to broker a deal with them. Just so you could get back at Mel—"

"That stupid barefaced turian—"

"Didn't deserve to be attacked by these huge merc bands and you know it!" She yelled back before he could finish. He was twice her size and probably twice as strong—but she was a mother and a wife, and he just compromised all of that. "I've been trying to get in contact with HQ but no one is answering. We have to go there. _Now_."

She stomped ahead of him, she was a little familiar with some of the underground—not as extensive as she would like but it could cut down some of the time she needed to get back to her kid.

When she turned back, Sidonis wasn't following her. His hold on the Carnifex was slack—and his gaze was steady and on the floor. "What will the boss think?" He whispered, more to himself than to her. "What will the boss think when he comes back and hears what I've done?"

"If you take charge and fix it—he'll forgive you."

"Archangel HQ is compromised. They probably set up jammers so that none of our calls are going through."

"Then we run there and fix the shit you caused."

"Nalah," There was something about his sub-harmonics that made her want to scratch his eyes out. She remembered hearing it in the voice of new recruits back in the day or in the voices of her complacent lieutenants, as they left all the work to the younger kids. "I can't do it."

"My family—my child is in there."

"I know. And—I'm sorry."

"Sorry? _Sorry_?" She glared at him—cocking her gun and clicking the safety off. She pointed the gun at him "You fucking put my whole family and my friends in danger and all you're going to say is you're fucking sorry?" She hadn't strung that many expletives in once sentence since she was sixteen.

"What was I—you saw, didn't you? They had a gun to my head!"

Nalah's hand didn't waver as she glared at the turian in front of her. Sidonis, the only other person in Archangel who ever called the boss by name. The only person the boss actually trusted to do the right thing—had given up everything by revealing the location of his friends and feeding them to the mercs.

They probably would have really killed him too, even after giving them all the info if Nalah hadn't killed his escorts and dragged him away. She saved the life of this—coward, while her family and friends were probably fending for their lives.

"Killing you now—would be too easy. I hope your life is hell from here on out, Sidonis." She roared. "If my family doesn't get out of this alive—I hope you never find solace or sleep."

Cursing someone was something she would have done as a gang member, but she found herself slipping back to old ugly habits. Sidonis practically crumbled inside, shaking his head and whispering his apologies. Nalah didn't have time to take care of cowards, she turned and stormed off—she needed to save Archangel.

* * *

"Blue Suns have the clinic surrounded since the virus spread. We can't just leave without sacrificing all these people." Erash's voice crackled through her comm. "I don't think we'll make it back in time. Shit—why is this all happening at once?"

"No," She smiled, hiding behind a wall. She was familiar with Archangel underground but making her way there was also scrambling her comm. "Don't come here. Wait for the boss to come back. The security system is probably helping the team but—I'm sure they were taken completely off guard."

"Right." His answer was muffled. "You should probably retreat as well—"

"No." She cut the batarian. "Not without my family."

Frederic was always smarter than he let people know. She knew that much as she used the security codes to get into HQ, she couldn't close the doors behind her—only Garrus and Erash had that authorization, but Erash had at least given her the code to activate some turrets in case they decided to use the underground.

She spotted Vortash and Mierin, by the kitchen counter—just where they were when Nalah left. Only now they weren't flirting or breathing. Monty's corpse made her heart bleed—she had been her best friend too. Sensat's arms were broken—to stop her from using her biotics. She didn't doubt that Eclipse was involved, no other merc band would have biotics strong enough to handle Sensat, even surprised.

She found her husband's body, it was left halfway out the door of surveillance on the second floor. She kneeled beside him, checked his pulse even if she knew he was gone. She covered her mouth with one hand, the other was clenched into a fist over her heart.

Tell me, she told herself. Tell me this is all a lie. That I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be as it should.

No one replied.

She heard a few gunshots and the door of the sleeping quarters open. She readied her gun, as a huge figure stepped out—covered in red and orange blood.

"Ms. Nalah?" Grundan asked. He was carrying his own sidearm but his left shoulder look shattered and there was blood running down his forehead. His smile, though, was the best thing Nalah had seen. "Ms. Nalah," His eyes watered. "I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"Not your fault, Grud." She stood up. She didn't have time to—look at Frederic right now. "I see you dealt with the fuckers."

"Yeah, the krogan was a big problem but I managed." He wiped the blood of his forehead with the back of his good hand. "Did anyone else survive?"

"Erash is off base, so he's fine."

"Thank god."

"He and Mel are being pinned down though in Gozu. Helping the doctor fight off the forces there. They can't—they won't make it to us in time if the mercs decide to sweep the place soon."

Grundan closed his eyes, his shoulder really broken by the way his entire arm seemed to be hanging off. With a sniff though, he made it look like it didn't hurt at all. "Any idea how they found us?"

"Sidonis—and just a lot of wrong decisions. Quick, I'll tell you all about it after I check something out." She motioned for him to follow her into the surveillance room.

She knew Frederic was smarter than most people thought. And she smiled when she looked at the back of the room and at messed up cargo boxes, some turned over—others thrown about as if someone was looking for something and had ransacked the place. Under one box, there was one with holes for handles and she lifted it to peek inside.

There he was. Sleeping, partly in cryo if the band on his wrist was anything to go by—he'd be alive in there, silent and sleeping, even for a few weeks.

"Shit," Grundan actually cursed. "We have to send Garret out of here."

"No, there isn't enough time." She stood up. "Even if we try to leave, they'll find us and we'll all die. I can't—I can't risk my baby's life. He'll be safer here." She put the box back in place. "Fred and I joked about this, you know? We'd put Garry in cryo if one of us met danger while with him. Had Erash make us those bands too—Oh, god, I can't believe this is happening." She covered her eyes with the back of her arm and sniffed. "They're all dead. They're all—gone."

Grundan was the most sensitive soul she knew. And it was cruel of her, but she watched him cry—allowing himself to grieve with her. Ripper might have suppressed whatever he was feeling. Krul would have walked away. Instead, Grundan embraced this moment. Dropping his gun, he held her hand and cried with her.

* * *

"I got the jammers down just so I could patch you in, Rai—" She lifted the hand covering her stomach; it came up painted red in her blood. "At a pretty high cost but—I'm the only one left. HQ wasn't going to stand any longer."

Legacy—Rai, from the other side of the comm, was silent. "I just left Palaven. I can't—I can't make it to you in time. I can send—"

"It's okay." Nalah whispered, looking down at her torn stomach. Damn vorcha. There wasn't any amount of medi-gel that was going to get that repaired—not with how much blood she lost. "It's not my life I want you to save."

"Nalah—"

"I left something. It's locked in the surveillance room. I—don't have time to tell anyone else. And I don't think they can take care of it. Not the way you can."

She knew what she was asking Rai to do. "Nalah, you can't—"

"Remember, back in the day? There were a lot of orphans. Even—Even a runner like you had to take care of a few babies." She whispered, laughing a little. "It's gotta be the one good thing the Reds ever taught you, right?"

"Nalah, what if I don't make it there in time?"

"You will, don't worry. I know you're going to get here in time." Nalah laughed. "I—would have called the boss. But—I don't think he can handle this. Not after the loss he'll endure when he arrives. I'll leave him a message to tell him what happened. But you—can handle this. F-for me."

"Nalah," Rai had been saying her name a lot. For some reason, it made her smile.

"He's—he'll be y-ours now. Treat him like he was your own—tell," She felt the tears prickle her eyes. "Tell him about us."

There was silence from the other side.

"Rai," She smiled. "Tell him we loved him. And goodbye."

She didn't have much time. The tips of her fingers were turning cold as she ended the call. There wouldn't be time to patch the boss in, but she managed to hit the record button and said: "Boss," She gasped. "It was Sidonis. He—"

She heard the crack and splinter—saw the explosive as it landed beside her. She used her whole body to cover the omni-tool.

She closed her eyes before it was all heat, and fire—then cold, cold oblivion.


	43. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being two days late. Got caught up. (Ao3 was having problems too).
> 
> A few lines lifted from A Bullet for your Sins, the chapter of the Mass Effect comic book series based on Garrus's time in Omega.

**Chapter 37**

He shot one stim, felt it go through his system at FTL speed. He only had four out of the twelve pods he left in HQ. They probably won't last him another two days.

The wrapped bodies of his comrades surrounded him—only three were missing. He wasn't sure where Mel or Erash were—but alive, hopefully.

Giving up was in the back of his mind and a simple truth, simpler than all the other ones he thought up as every bullet made it to its target and every clip, clanked and sang—empty against the asphalt. Only he couldn't give up because—

He remembered green colored eyes. While she slept, he remembered her soft hair under his hand. He recalled his mother's kind voice as she reassured him that she would watch over her while he was gone.

He lifted his gun and looked through his scope, his finger on the trigger.

* * *

Maybe he should have known that one time.

Both he and Shepard were sharing a drink, a legitimate drink in Archangel HQ. It had been a long day for her and he saw it in her face, in her complexion. She was running herself ragged, as if the concept of rest was so foreign or so stupid it baffled her.

But still she made time for him, bored as he was while Sidonis did all the Intel work—insisted that he be that part of the team that provided all the datapads and files, the guy who knew all the sensitive information. Garrus had trusted him implicitly; he was the lieutenant, second-in-command. If Garrus were to be taken down in battle he trusted Sidonis to pick up the slack and move forward.

Just as Alenko had trusted Garrus to move forward, to do the right thing even when he pulled the trigger on Dr. Saleon and had never been so disappointed in Garrus since. Understanding be damned, Alenko still thought it was wrong. Garrus knew that.

But with a dextro glass of liquor and her own levo one, a red wine she had described as "New World, Stag's Leap: pricey and powerful. A far cry from the shit in Afterlife and a drink for the weary." She had picked it up before heading back to her temporary safe house. She had swirled the red contents from a glass of crystal and drank it with the true mettle and decorum a good wine deserved.

"You trust your Sidonis with a lot of things." She said offhandedly to fill the silence.

He sighed. "Why do I feel we've had this conversation before?"

She pushed, however. "You ever dip your hands in the Intel work?"

"Every once in a while. I look at everything he shows me. And I show him everything you've given us so far."

"So, he knows everything you know." She sipped the wine and put the glass down. "And he might not share everything he knows."

His eyes narrowed at the insinuation. He knew Erash was listening in and that this sort of bomb, planted in the head of even the most logical person could end up bursting into a huge mess. "I trust Sidonis. He helped me make Archangel what it is today." He sighed. "I realize this must sound naïve to you but there are people I can definitely lay my life down for and can trust with my life."

She poured herself another round of the red wine. The smell was woody and aromatic. He always thought levo alcohol would repel him like the food but the smell had reminded him of the old haunts in Cipritine, the trees there and the soil. He was tempted to ask for a sip if he wasn't sure that it would send him to the hospital.

"Did you reach this idiom in the book yet?" She smiled—a lazy sort of, oddly, sultry smile. Maybe she was a little drunk, maybe he was. He couldn't remember any recent time but this one where he had seen her smile like that. "It goes: pick your poison. It means to choose between horrible options. In this case: to trust a man who may not return the same trust or to distrust him and breed animosity."

"Oh, that sounds like the relationship I have with a certain other person with a love for wine."

"Hah, don't be dumb, turian." She still had that smile on her face. It was doing weird things to his insides, but then, so was his drink. "I never once said you should give me any of your trust."

A bullet whizzed past and overhead. Wake up, Garrus. He told himself, his sharp teeth grating the walls of his mouth. Wake up or you'll never get to kill the one responsible.

"Boss," Nalah's voice in the recording rasped. "It was Sidonis. He—" An explosion cut her off. Garrus found her body near the entrance when he entered, scorched and barely recognizable.

But now, he looked over the bridge, gun snug between his hands—every pull of the trigger he chanted a name—each bullet met their mark, dead on.

* * *

With the incoming YMIR mech he could see behind their barricade, Garrus knew he didn't have enough clips to take it down and defend himself from both the heavy mech and the fodder support. He felt his heart rate pick up and his eyes sharpen from the stims but he probably didn't have much power to stand and run. Two days without sleep would do that to a man, days without proper food too. Not to mention wave and wave of armed men coming towards him.

Another round of stims and Garrus found that his life could be summed up in three hard truths.

The first truth made his head ache, even as his eyes looked into the scope and took one merc down after another. The first truth was that if had reunited with the "newly made" Commander Alenko, Garrus wouldn't have hesitated to inform his commander of some of things they could have done better. For example the incident with Robinson might have gone better had Alenko not let his heart speak for his head. Scuttlebutt had a way with putting the crosshairs on a good relationship. If anything had put a strain in that short love affair, it was that Williams would never know if Alenko had saved her because he loved her or because Robinson had made sure that the bomb would go off. He would have advised Alenko to be more confident in his choices, to not be so easily swayed by the people he was trying to convince.

At the same time, he would have liked to have learned more from the Commander. What had he thought when he stood defending himself against the Blitz? What had N-school been like for a biotic or for one as young as him? And maybe some non-military things as well, like how he was able to hold his drink so well and yet still be able to drag Wrex back to the ship with his biotics? Or, how painful were the headaches caused by both the nightmares from the Beacon and the L2 implants?

The second hard truth hit him and it took his breath away. He felt it still after he had loaded himself with the last of his stims and changed the clip of his Mantis. Counting what he had left, he knew it was appropriate that his breath was coming short now.

The second truth was that he longed to speak to Shepard, to finish that talk that they had promised. Resisting the urge to reach over to the pendant hanging on his neck—he didn't want a reminder that he didn't have it anymore. He opted instead for the Indra he had at ready and shot down the large mech, doing a pattern of shooting and Overloading before it could move out of his line of sight. The combination of precision and speed took it down quick enough that he reached back for his Mantis and aimed at the fodder—they were growing cockier lately. Not that he had given them any reason to be.

He wished that the moment he thought Allison and Shepard were one and the same, that he had pushed for answers. Remembering Shepard now made him feel stupid and young, when he always thought he was neither— how patient she had been with him as they discussed tactics. How equal they were when they had discussed weapons and armors. And all other conversations in between, all the jokes and drinks they both enjoyed together.

The last regret, and the most painful, was that it took him more than enough time to realize that his father had been right all along. The nagging voice he made up in his head, the conscience of his conscience. He should have spent more time in Palaven—making it up to his sister, spending more time with his mother.

His father had warned him about everything. If he had listened, no one would have had suffered his ineptitude—no one would have been tortured or killed.

There was nothing he could do about the other two truths. But that last one—if he was going to go then he could at least be a good son if not a good turian.

"Dad." He said through his omni-tool as soon as his father picked up the other line.

"Garrus? Have you landed safely? What's all that noise?"

Garrus smiled as he looked past his scope. The mercs were gathering for another rally and they were moving a little better than before. "Just a little target practice."

"Then call me back later."

"I don't think I can do that later." He fired a few rounds of his own and each bullet dropped a man down. "Too many targets."

His father figured it out, like he always did. "I see."

"I just wanted to hear your voice. Is—is mom all right? Solana?"

"Yes, she's fine, son. They both are."

"How about you? You good?"

"I'm fine. Forget about that."

Garrus turned back, just a moment while the mercs tried to reassemble and descramble their troops. "I just wanted you to know that you were right about everything. I should have listened to you, when I could. I—I'm sorry."

"I said forget about that. Listen, are these targets of yours moving fast?"

Garrus looked through his scope. "So far, not fast enough. But they're learning."

His father paused before speaking again. "How are your thermal clips?"

"Oh you know how it is. You could always use a little more."

"Work with what you got, then. You don't stop pulling that trigger until it _clicks,_ son." Garrus knew he was about to say something especially important when his father paused again. "No matter how things are falling apart around you, as long as you have at least one bullet left, you can still get the job done. Understand?"

Garrus looked through his scope. Maybe he was hoping someone he knew would be on his or her way to him now, save his ass in the nick of time. Looking at the grim determined faces of the fodder the mercs were sending his way, not one of them was familiar. He always knew, Garrus thought. He always knew Omega was the end of the road for most people.

"Yeah, dad." He replied, he kept his subvocals as soft as possible. "Thanks."

He did fathom the click of his father's mandibles, the bare hum from his subharmonics on the other line that knew he was lying and that his son wasn't going to come home—not in the way a father would want a son to return. And that this late conversation was the only time the two of them would ever sort anything out. It was so half-assed, so much varren shit. Spirits.

Only one last thing to ask. "Is she—is she alright?"

There was a strange silence but they both knew who Garrus was referring to. "She is. She woke up a few days ago. She's making her way to you."

"Spirits," Garrus laughed. "About time." He exhaled heavily. "But she won't make it in time now. I'm not that lucky."

"Garrus," His father's powerful voice was clear even light years away. "You finish up what you have to do there, and then you come on home to Palaven again. There are a lot of things we have to sort out."

Get the job done, Vakarian. Get it done and go home.

"I have to go now, dad."

"I know." His father whispered in the other line. He didn't try to stop the call. "I know."

Garrus didn't try to drop the comm either. As he looked out at the bottleneck, welcoming his end—he caught sight of three distinct figures and—the N7 insignia.

"Dad," He didn't think his smile was a nice one. Not when he imagined he could get out of this one alive. Not when he imagined Shepard and him meeting again. Not when imagined the bullet and the traitorous head it was meant for. "It seems my situation just got a whole lot better."


	44. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention how happy I am that we're now, really, in ME2?
> 
> I didn't expect it to take a year but here we are. Here's to what might be another great year of story-telling. :D

**Chapter 38**

She didn't make it in time.

She knew that much from the stories—she passed every alley, every bar in Omega. Archangel was gone. The last man standing, so they whispered. One rumor was Archangel got blown up by Blue Sun's gunship. Another was that he just got overrun by the Blood Pack and got eaten by their varren.

Somebody, but though people thought him crazy, saw a ghost walk up to that base and try to save him. She knew that ghost, however, and she knew that if he was successful and Archangel was safe—then she owed him another heavy debt.

Before visiting Aria to confirm that fact, she needed to go to Archangel HQ to collect. She passed the familiar roads, the old haunts—walked down that one bottleneck bridge. She noted the devastation, the young bodies of nobodies and the Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse.

Bullets marked the walls, scorch marks from Incinerates and explosions—signs of battle covered every floor. She traced the HQ, a halfway house of sorts to her; she willed herself to at least recall some good memories and then leave. Not that the people in this house had been empty shells to her—she had cared for them, some more than others. If she could, she'd have sent Grundan's body to be cremated and sprinkle the ashes in a garden somewhere, somewhere with lilies—his mother's namesake and his father's favorite flower.

She bit her lip. No, she thought, not here.

Had she been Shepard, there would be no end to the hurt that she would bring. When her squad had been killed by the Thresher Maw in Akuze, Shepard wasn't fully ready to heal—wasn't fully prepared to take up the mantle to lead the Dominion either. In the guise of getting over it, she dragged her feet until compromise corrupted character. Cerberus did suffer for that.

When she reached the second floor, she noted the different colored blood stains—the quarters specifically, had been marred by scorch marks, spent clips, and blue turian blood.

Garrus. What was he doing now? How was he feeling? She had lost a whole team before but how did it compare to this? Was he—dead? Not likely, she liked to think. She had yet to find a body and she wouldn't believe until she saw one.

She turned away from the room, making her way into the surveillance room instead. She eyed the broken screen and empty cargo boxes—was Erash dead as well? She didn't find his corpse in the tomb of his surveillance laboratory but he could have died elsewhere—maybe his body had been fodder for an effigy or worse.

She wasn't looking for his body though. She came here for someone else.

The sound was soft—a breath, barely awake. Her entire back stiffened before relaxing—her hand went straight for the sword at her hips. Ears searched for the sound, another raspy tiny breath and she crouched down, at the end of the room where the cargo boxes were piled up. Slowly, she made her way towards it, feet padded and silent—on the tips of her toes she sifted through the cargo—and found who she was looking for.

* * *

"Your Intel is right. Archangel and his batarian friend boarded the Normandy. One of them—Mel, is feeding of the power vacuum left behind."

"And the doctor?"

Aria gave her one of those looks. She was expecting it. She did have a six month old baby in her arms, a bottle to his lips, wrapped in clean warm blankets. She'd also purchased a pair of muffs to drown the sounds of Afterlife, but the club was still no place for a baby—and she'd gotten incredulous "You've got be kidding me" expressions on the way up here. She'd also gotten predatory ones, but she could draw her sidearm faster than most of them could think—baby in one arm be damned—and it did help that Aria's people knew her and shadowed her as she got to the right floor.

"He boarded as well after Alenko cured the plague. Why didn't you ask him yourself?"

"And let Cerberus trace his mail to my location?"

Aria blinked, turning to look at her aids before waving a hand for them to leave along with the dancers who were cooing after the baby. "You're as paranoid as ever."

"Says the asari who just sent her entire force downstairs so they wouldn't hear us talk— even after they've been working for her for a decade." She adjusted the baby bottle so Garret could drink the last few gulps quicker. "And how was our commander, Aria?"

"Collecting people. No doubt—twisted crew members for something Cerberus worthy. I can't say all the facts check out but he'd been to other places and adding more people on his ship. We'll have to wait and see." Aria stretched her arms along the back of her couch. "He does good work. Not great work, but good. The plague was a huge headache, luckily the Patriarch had some info on that to aid Alenko. Then he got rid of it. And the mercs? They needed a dressing down." Looking down from her nose at the baby, Aria smirked. "And he did all of that for free."

"I still had to do so many things for you, just so you wouldn't kill him on sight."

"Huh. I hate the way his hair was perfectly quaffed—no amount of payment could stop me from feeling that. Also," She paused with a great breath. "I wanted to kick his face."

"I'm sure the feeling was mutual. You're not exactly his idea of the ideal woman." She stood with a nod, the baby barely stirred—but there wasn't anything in the bottle anymore and she still needed to buy him things. With the new baby gear, she slid the bottle into one of the holders of her new belt. "Thank you for being accommodating, as always, Aria."

"Hn." To her surprise, the asari stood—still eying the baby a bit before looking back at her face again—then at the baby.

She sighed. "Okay, what is it?"

"Are," Aria glared at her, like it was her fault that she couldn't complete her question. She stood leaning back against one leg. Garret made cute cooing noises babies shouldn't be allowed to do. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Please, I know how to handle babies—I know that may surprise you, but I've had experience." She smiled at how much darker Aria's glare became when she added: "Besides, you were a mother yourself. How hard could it be?"

"Hah. Bitch."

"Don't teach the kid foul language." She mock frowned and drew the baby closer to her.

Aria's smirk returned before she reached out for the kid, slowly, she moved the shock of blonde hair from his chubby face. It was probably the most—gentle— she'd ever seen Aria be, and they'd been "friends" for a very long time. The asari, after some more staring, finally turned to look her in the eye. "I could learn how to be a father as well."

True terror struck her just then. She recovered quickly before the cold sweat could break out. "I hate your jokes."

Aria titled her head back and laughed, loud enough that it may have reached the lower floor. Somebody may have just pissed his pants at the sound of it. "Stay alive. I'll have a few of my men shadow you until you leave Omega. I know you hate depending on guns that aren't yours but do it for the kid's sake."

"Thank you." She nodded. "Likewise."

As she was leaving, Aria cleared her throat. "If the position of father—"

"Shut up."

* * *

"So? Did our stories check out?"

Joker swiveled on his pilot seat to greet her, a half-smile on his face that reminded her too much of Amadeus (who she still had to find, that bastard). She shook her head, plopping herself on one of the chairs near the doorway.

"Yeah, I've confirmed that Erash did join Garrus and boarded Alenko's ship. The doctor is with them too."

"And—the kid?"

"Sleeping. VI's watching over him. Downloaded the best one on human baby care."

Joker may not have known Nalah and she never really talked about her with him, but he did have the deepest frown she'd ever seen to date. "He's barely a year old. Will you be able to take care of him?"

She chuckled. "I have a soft spot for kids."

"Do you?" A dead-panned reply. "Because last I recall you hated people."

"I do hate people." She nodded immediately. "But children are nice. But—my last mission in the Alliance involved a kid. It didn't end well." She looked down. "Since then, I thought I didn't have a right to even be near one. But my interactions with Gregor in Tuchanka weren't so bad—"

"I don't think krogan kids are really children. And not because I'm being a xenophob, but more because they weigh twice as much as a human adult—"

"And this is Nalah's kid." She smiled. "I can afford to make an exception."

"She—" Joker hesitated, his arms and hands were on the rest and his knuckles turned white as he gripped them. "Was she important to you?"

"She was—my first friend, whether I knew it then or not. She was one of the few who knew my childhood name. There aren't a lot of people who know it."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Legacy." He closed his eyes. "Fuck, I'm sorry I can't get the tone to say sorry right either but—look, you've comforted me about the Commander and you did a good job at that. I'm just sorry I can't give you the same support."

She leaned forward and shook her head. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault she passed away."

"It is someone's fault though."

"Yes," She didn't bother to mask the sharp sheen of her eyes. "I plan to collect."

Not just for her, she thought. But for Garrus, and Nalah's son. Erash. Melanis, despite the fact that the two never truly got along. And all the good men and women who were left for dead.

"Right now," She blinked, returning to the present. "We've done our part and the Commander is awake—which means we leave the forefront and return to giving obscure support. Some necessary polishing, so to speak. But for the most part? I left the right people in the right places. We're just about done."

Joker sighed. Maybe he expected the drama to last a little longer before they went back to business. She knew crying in front of someone new wasn't going to make her feel better. Nalah wouldn't want her to become a sobbing mess.

"I can't believe Cerberus really resurrected him."

"Hey, what's money for if it can't bring you back to life, right?" She chuckled. Leaning back against the chair, she allowed the cushions to form around her shape. "I think it's about time you decide yourself."

"Decide on what?"

"Going back to the _Normandy_."

"What?" He blinked several times before his eyes widened. "I never even considered leaving the _Temperament_."

"You should. She was your baby after all."

"What? And leave you here? Alone? With a _real_ baby? Legacy, no offence, but you'd probably crash into nearest the floating space junk you can find. And I don't want the kid to become an orphan again."

She frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're a horrible driver. The _Temperament_ may not have the stealth system Aelia Vakarian had designed for the Normandy—but damn, have I told you how happy I am that this ship was designed by her?"

She crossed her arms. "Don't change the subject. You're an Alliance pilot, Joker. The best damn one, remember? There are no hard feelings between us if you choose to go back to the _Normandy_."

"Hah, I drove a dilapidated cargo vessel from Tuchanka to Omega for almost two damn years. That's like riding back and forth between all the rings of hell. I made it last through a hundred attempted pirate raids, a crash from freaking planet cannons—fuck best Alliance pilot, right? I am the best damn pilot in the galaxy and the _Temperament_ can take me there. You can take me there, captain."

"Hey now, I left the Alliance before I could earn that rank."

He smiled. "For what it's worth, Legacy, you're the only commanding officer I've ever really wanted to listen to. And you know I've worked under other living Alliance legends that didn't go rogue. I'm going in whatever ship you're commandeering, ma'am."

"If you're sure."

"Dead sure."

"Hey, you don't know about that anymore. Cue Alenko."

"Hah, Reapers are assholes sure."

"Very well." She shot him a winning smile. "I'd love to have you aboard as my pilot then, Joker."

"Careful there, Legacy. You're using strong language you might actually mean." He raised his hands in surrender at her mock glare. "But what are we up to now? Alenko is back, and he'll go around cashing in all the favors you've gathered for him so far—he already took the one from Aria. Don't we need to let him know what we've uncovered?"

"Not directly." She stood up, hand on her hip. "I find that feeding people information dumbs them down and draws unwarranted attention to myself. We filter it through informants, those informants will tell Cerberus informants—"

"And we look like we were never involved."

"Exactly. We dump things inside several pipelines and they'll lead to the same ocean."

"I like the way you Black Ops think, Legacy."

"Shepard."

Joker looked up from smiling to himself, eyes wide and sparkling. "What?"

"My name. Rai Shepard." She smiled back. "I'll be plotting our next destination on the map, helmsman. Where we're going—isn't the prettiest place."

"Come on, Shepard." He said her new name seamlessly. "What could be worse than Omega?"


	45. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Sorry if my chapter naming got anyone confused! (Actually, partly the blame is on Ao3 for giving writers no choice since you can't rename the chapter number and if you leave the Chapter title empty it goes with the chapter number. Argh.) And to those who didn't notice (like myself) the chapter looked like it was chapter 45 when it was actually chapter 39.
> 
> Need to thank A Lurker who left me the lovely comment [and correction]. Thanks a bunch!

Chapter 39

How did one save a life?

Garrus noted that Mordin's answer was medicine. Lately, he'd been spending time around the salarian's company, due to the injury he had sustained in Omega. In fact, his face was the first Garrus saw when he woke up. After him, was dear Dr. Chakwas. Then, even better than all of them was Erash, pacing next to the door.

The scar ran deep, he bled heavily—and it really didn't make sense that he survived at all. But Alenko came back from the dead and Shepard survived crippling injuries and stood from a coma. It made sense that he, fully plated and the stronger apex predator, would survive like the squishy humans did.

The difference was that every morning when he woke up he stared at the scar that took up most of his neck and half his face. Every morning he stared down at his armor, refusing to have it changed even when the Commander practically ordered it.

Was his life saved?

Maybe. But he woke with another illness altogether. He woke up every morning, thirsty, but no drink could sate it.

* * *

_2185\. 03. 13._

_Message Title: Let me know you're okay_

_Garrus,_

_Respond._

The message whipped him in the face all over again, his head spun as he stared down at it. One minute, he was tired from the ground mission from Korlus—coming back with no warlord but a super krogan soldier, could do that to anyone. There were way too many people who had the high ground over them but taking them down with Massani (whose skill made up for his former allegiances and his mouth) had been a good break from the thirst.

Now, this email from an unknown address—direct to his personal mail. He had only gotten anonymous mails from one other person. No one else sent such short notes before.

He let a day pass, and then another. Dossiers were coming in. Garrus was sure he had missed another ground mission because he was staring at his omni-tool—he had given an excuse to the Commander, something about calibrations. He hadn't even told Solus or Erash yet.

"EDI, does Cerberus go through our mail?"

The blue hologram next to his door in the Main Battery sprang up. "XO Miranda Lawson intercepts incoming and outgoing mail before approving it to pass through our firewalls. This is more relevant, however, to Commander Kaidan Alenko's personal and business mail."

"So, as long as I don't use my—business terminal, I'm not likely to have eyes on my incoming and outgoing messages on my personal mail?"

"Correct, Officer Vakarian. I am not authorized to follow mail coming from those units."

"Garrus, EDI. Just Garrus." His sigh was bigger than he intended to show. "Does the Commander know that you guys are spying on his personal matters?"

"XO Miranda Lawson has not made the Commander fully aware of the extent of the surveillance we have on him. However, he is also not uninformed that we do regular sweeps on messages and Intel he receives from outside sources."

Garrus would have rolled his eyes if he could—not that it would make sense to another turian or to a machine—AI or not. "Thank you, EDI. Please do inform me in the event that Cerberus's protocol changes. I'd prefer that my private affairs are kept—private."

"Understood, Garrus. Signing you out."

He sent mails out to old friends first. People he knew from C-Sec who knew where and how to get information. He waited another full day before spending another something hours just staring at the mail and then replying to his sources.

He had one name on his visor that he had scratched out. Another, he added—and was barely a year old. Granted, Mel had yet to find the body of the kid but it was likely he was— no, he didn't want to think about how he failed another person. Most of all, Nalah's child whom he met only through vidcomm.

Three full days since the mail arrived, another came in from an anonymous address—different from last time. Now, she was being more paranoid than usual. But what was she doing? She had no idea whether or not he was alive or awake. Was she sending him mails but not expecting replies?

_Garrus,_

_I have Garret—_

A breath he didn't know he was holding was released. His world spun again and reeling, he held on to terminal in front of him. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. How did Shepard end up with the boy? How did she know where to find him?

_Nalah called me before she—passed. He is safe. Barely cries. Recently informed others in Omega, you should get their feedback soon._

Another day and she was right. Mel sent him mail saying that the child was with—a mutual acquaintance and safe. Though the mail had been grudging rather than thankful, no one in HQ would have suspected Nalah would give her child to her, of all people. Did she—did she even know anything about babies?

"I did."

Erash's voice by the door of Main Battery had him jumping from staring down at the holo screen.

"You did what?"

"Your face has been in that same expression of confusion for a whole day." Erash actually smiled. "I'm not surprised. They knew each other before they met in Omega."

"Erash, how did you—have you been reading my mail?"

The batarian rolled all four of his eyes. "If you can explain how I knew any other way, boss. Please." He leaned back against the door.

"Well, stop it."

Erash sniffed. "Fine." A moment past with them just staring at each other before the batarian folded his arms across his chest. "You don't plan on replying?"

"Why should I reply?"

"Just a thought, boss."

"Have you been getting mail from her? Has Solus?"

"No," He shook his head. "She's only talking to you."

Garrus turned back to his terminal. "Oh."

"Boss?"

Garrus looked back. "Yeah?"

Erash shrugged. "Try not to waste it."

* * *

_Garrus,_

_At the moment—a certain pilot and I are about to get ready to do something dangerous. We've taken all precautions, though. We should be fine._

_Garrus,_

_Did you know there are batarians meaner than Erash? Fuck, worse people ever._

_Garrus,_

_I tried a dextro dish called Kaba. It was—interesting. Though I don't think I'll be eating it again._

_Garrus,_

_For whatever reason, Garret is enjoying the bustle of this place—and it's worse than Omega. I think Nalah is finding some way to shoot me now. I don't blame her._

_Garrus,_

_I forgot to mention I had an interesting talk with your mother before leaving. I actually really like your mom. Did she ever tell you she designed the Temperament?_

Different messages came daily, sometimes twice. Every day from a different mail address or omni-tool address. It probably cost more money than it was worth. Why was she doing it?

Don't be dumb, Vakarian. You know why. He told himself as he surfed through the mail from his contacts instead. When he was done with that, he'd clean rifles or tinker with the Thannix Cannon. Anything, really, to stop from reading and re-reading the messages—be productive and actually listen to whatever the Commander was saying when he came to visit him.

Every morning he stared at the scars in the mirror. Every day, he loaded a new clip for target practice and imagined that one target he had to hit if it was the last of him. Every day, he looked at his omni-tool—and gave up stopping himself from smiling.

He already almost lost her once. Hadn't he learned by now?

 _Allie,_ which was the safest name he could think of. Any other name would have tipped someone off. No matter how safe she was being, Garrus only had two addresses and even with firewalls of his own design—he could only ever hope to slow down an AI.

_Allie,_

_I'm okay._


	46. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Right before Joker got permission to dock, he turned to Shepard who was looking at him—hip cocked to the side, smirking.

"Damn," Joker slid into the Docking Bay—C32, supposedly—but the paint work on it was almost scratched off and only 4 of the 6 docking clamps that were supposed to hold the ship in place were working. "Who knew there were places worse than Omega."

"I told you so."

"Please tell me we're here for a valid reason."

"We are. Help me upload this into the ship's database." She opened up the portable hard drive Aelia gave her and loaded up the blueprints so that they flashed on Joker's screen. "Didn't you wonder why we had such a powerful drive core for such a small ship? This is the original design of the Temperament. We're in for an upgrade. It's practically a full scale retrofit."

Joker sent her a winning smile. "I really do like the way you black ops think. Judging by the blueprints though—looks complicated. And expensive."

"We'll manage. For the most part, we'll pick up materials here and move to a safer station."

He nodded. "You think Garret will be fine in a place like this?"

Technically, it was never a good idea to infiltrate enemy territory pretending you were a wares merchant when you actually had nothing. It was also not a good idea to go in with a helmsman who couldn't run very fast and a baby that was less than a year old. After all, if Omega was the toilet of the galaxy then the Nemean Abyss was the sewer the waste festered in. Shepard herself had only been here a handful of times and her perspective on the smog, the green and blue neon lights, and the locals in general worsened with each visit.

The pirate hub, Anubis, had particular advancements in tech that would cause the Citadel to drool in envy and by its own rights, claimed enough sovereignty that even the batarian raiders would give a moment's pause before conducting business. It was a shithole of a place with its own army.

She snorted. "You think any of us will be fine?"

"Hah. Good point."

* * *

Damn, there was a reason why she was a former black ops officer, not a grease junkie.

Upgrading was taking longer than necessary because she lacked the ability to improvise or build the materials listed in the blueprint. Maybe, if she had been as adept with tech as Erash or Sara then this would have been faster. But she was much better with numbers, with statistics, than with actual engineering—and even if the former could be applied to the latter, it didn't necessarily add up to genius. There were also multiple times in the day where her arms would lock in place or when she'd feel out of breath while assembling the hardware. What PT she could do when she was in a hurry wasn't enough. Especially when she was the only one who could physically defend herself and her crew. Despite being completely healed —being fit to optimum was a different game altogether.

In other words: no matter what she bought or stole, without the right people to help her build it, she'd be more behind schedule than she already was. So fine, she'll really keep her word and not try so hard to build and focus on purchasing. Not that that was any easier, people in Anubis were out to eat anyone unfamiliar with ware rates.

It also didn't help that on top of all of this, Garret was looking for Nalah. Shepard saw it in the way he stared at her, cried even after being fed. No amount of old songs or odes could soothe him. She supposed that after some time he would get used to her and eventually, when he was old enough, she would explain what happened to Nalah.

" _Tell him about us. Tell him that we loved him."_

She nearly doubled over when she recalled that and even the steel that kept her from crying melted when Garret looked up at her with big, blue eyes. She opened her omni-tool instead.

" _I'm okay."_

She stared down at that reply again—unsure to be relieved or disappointed. How could Garrus be okay? After all of this?

"Where are you going?" Joker turned back as she approached.

"A drink." She muttered only after the airlock started to open in front of her. "I need a drink."

"Alright." He nodded. Leave it to Joker to know when she was feeling restless and pissed off and just too damn sad to talk. "Don't sleep with weird strangers—you don't know what they've done."

Her wave was more dismissive than an actual goodbye. She stepped foot on Anubis and took a whiff of the musk of piss and desperation. She double checked if she had her guns and sword before weaving her way through the crowds gathered at the docking bay.

* * *

By the time she found a decent pub, took a seat at the bar and actually ordered Noverian Rum—she had summarized her concerns into three.

The first was that she was in no position to be helping out Garrus when she barely had her shit together. Remembering Nalah and Grundan made what happened on Akuze seem all the more vivid in her dreams. She'd learned to accept the friends she'd lost then, and that it wasn't her fault—but what wisdom could she impart to Garrus? When Aelia approved of a possible relationship between Shepard and her son—at the time it had seemed possible, but now, knowing that he was wounded—

She had done this before. She had taken advantage of Azril's situation too; had gone about her feelings in a sly way and then ended up hurting him when she left the Alliance. She couldn't do that to Garrus. She would ask him, honestly, if this relationship was going to go a step further. And if—if he didn't want to, if he changed his mind, then she would let it go.

The first problem couldn't be dealt with unless she conquered the second and the third. The second was that it was even more imperative that she find Lor—now that she knew he was alive. She needed to close that door, seal it somewhere, and then let it sink to the ocean bed.

Which brought her to her third problem—Mad held the information she needed to find her mentor and father. And he wanted her to follow him, to be with him. It was like selling her soul to the devil. Oh, she had her bargains with ghouls before, but if there was any evil she knew well to stay clear from, it was Mephistopheles himself.

She would have to find Lor by herself. She had already had the audio clip processed by VIs to get more information from the ambient noise. From her previous travels, she'd already cross-referenced possible places for him to be: Omega, Kahje, Ilium, Citadel, Anubis.

She'd have to look again. This time in places he wasn't likely to be. It would be fine, considering she needed to visit those places for the retrofit and materials

Shepard was looking at the grime under her nails when it happened.

She had opted, when she arrived at Anubis, to hide one scar under cosmetics and change the shape of the other. Scarring was intimidating enough in a place of pirates, and even if she wanted to seem like the Captain of the merchant ship, it was still a good idea to look like she'd survived one or more tough fights. The air was chilly at this time in the night cycle, as a way to simulate the night in Karshan and even chillier when she noticed her gloveless hands.

She spotted a little speck of dirt under the nail of her index finger, a blemish amongst otherwise pristine nails. She began to pick at it, trying to dig it out when she noticed one too many batarians, all dressed in red and white camo filing out of the pub in a hurry. She heard a loud crash outside too—a can had fallen and along with it, some shouting.

She could spot slavers when she saw them—batarians were generally part of that class, forced to do it because it was part of a sick culture. Hell, humans did it too. The general populace frowned upon it, but if you had enough money, people could be persuaded to look away. For a pub in Anubis situated near the docks, it was supposed to be a little more peaceful—the sicker crime dwellers were supposed to be working deeper within the pirate den.

And then one of those batarians in camo was thrown back into the pub, through the window—a supposedly bullet-proof and shatter-proof window. The lug lay dead and bleeding on the table. People stood to stare. Shepard didn't look up from picking at her nail and uncrossed her legs.

It was like starting a food fight in a cafeteria full of misfits. One broken window usually led to more casualties left and right. Right on cue, there came the sound of breaking beer bottles, someone screeching, a thermal clip being dispensed, and the powering amp of a biotic. Sighing, she slid her credit chit and finished her drink before ducking as a volus flew overhead, thrown by a biotic Throw.

Stepping out of the pub's entrance, she took another extra step to evade another batarian thrown towards her direction—his neck cut open by three razor sharp talons, he fell and suffocated before dying.

Shepard turned slowly to the source of the ruckus. She wasn't surprised to see a barefaced turian, young, judging by how much shorter his fringe was compared to Garrus's. But he was cut like the rest of them, lean along the waist and with a black-grey set of faceplates. His armor was medium, at best—if not worn to the point of thinning to light. The talons in his right hand were extended, coated in red blood.

No, none of that surprised her. What did was that he had a sword, its holster hanging by a belt strapped around his waist. And, hiding behind his leg was a platinum blonde, female human child—clinging to him like he was a buoy in an ocean.

The turian boy had taken down two batarians by hand—clearly, they had underestimated him and the three that were left standing finally got wise and pulled out their guns.

Even with how high the armor rose above their necks, without a helmet it was still one of the most vulnerable places for most species. Shepard's sword slid through shield and flesh like butter. With her left hand, she unloaded a single bullet through his buddy's temple at near point blank range. As both slavers fell, the turian boy pounced—taking down the last one down with talons through three eyes and retracted them as his body slid.

The child clung at the turian's leg, seeming even smaller as she stared up at her. Shepard shook the blood off her sword with a single wave before holstering. The turian-boy looked at her with tired, gleaming eyes.

She wasn't comfortable with hero-worship. Shrugging, she holstered her pistol and nodded at the two. "This isn't a place for kids. I suggest you don't carry guns without thermal clips next time. The dead won't miss theirs though."

The turian-boy opened his mouth and closed it again. Shepard shook her head and walked passed them, she needed to get back to work—head occupied with thoughts of how she would start looking for Lor after those damned upgrades.


	47. Interlude VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this extremely late post! Had a big Halloween event that was just asdfghj. But it's all right now. We return to the regular scheduled updates (I think). Though my writing has slowed down (haha). Be prepared for sporadic-ness.
> 
> Nonetheless, happy reading!

**Interlude VI: The Woman**

Olivia turned behind him, unsettling the dust on the sofa and sneezed in her sleep. Julius drew her blanket up so it covered her chin. He stood and walked towards the broken window, peered down through the holes in the curtain before sighing. If he was with his family now—all of them family—then they would at least have a simple but well-furnished place to stay rather than an abandoned apartment deep inside Anubis station. Furthermore, Olivia wouldn't be half starved, wouldn't have the urge to go back to her old habits of stealing, and wouldn't have drawn the attention of slavers.

With the tension of their entire situation pressing against him, it wasn't hard to think about the woman.

Maybe it was—wrong. How much she pervaded his thoughts, his actions. He could already hear his brother's jabs about a crush or an obsession. If there was anything to thank Cain for getting them all into this mess, it was that he gave Julius the opportunity to meet—her.

He was sure his need to stalk her had gone beyond his feelings of gratitude. The stink of batarian blood was still strong under his talons—no amount of soap (which he was sure was 50% sawdust) could wash it off. He had—he had never killed a man outside of a mission before. Even his work as an info courier in Omega barely made it necessary to carry a gun. Moreover, because of the way his family travelled, their hideout had contingency plans or panic rooms when they were conducting a mission.

The more he thought about her, however, the more he realized what he was feeling.

His father always focused their practice on determining an opponent's strength before engaging in close quarters combat. It was a split-second glance, an estimation that was supposed to be as precise as possible—a paradox in practice. Underestimating an opponent may spell death, but overestimating an opponent meant wasted energy. In a long fight with the numbers stacked against you, which was how most fights went, wasting energy held deathly consequences.

Efficiency and estimation. That was the life bread of the battle arts imparted to him—to them—and the most basic principle. How much they would grow as his students depended on how well they could utilize those two skills. These two skills were rooted in belief and habit: conviction, repetition.

Frankly, the restraint was more tiring than actually going all out. When you knew you could take out an opponent by brute force or a well-aimed bullet—who needed to estimate? But their salarian mentor wouldn't let them progress if they couldn't do that much. Cain himself was at a standstill and Julius was catching up to him—

Which led to their present situation with Cain missing and Lor looking for him. They were instructed to stay on Earth while Lor looked for Cain but Olivia's fidgeting was contagious. They managed to track Lor's path to Anubis but then the trail went cold. Julius knew what the Intel business was like and was already waiting for some word but the one time Olivia said she wanted to go out and see the place, the batarians took one look at her and thought she would sell for a pretty penny.

The woman arrived just in time. The way she moved—efficient, cold. Cain had a little too much rage and excitement in his movements, Lor said, even for a human. Julius was too careful and considerate. Olivia was too wild, free. But the woman was calculating, precise. CQC provided a lot of Intel on a person—by the way they stood, breathed—if the person dodge or weaved or blocked. But the woman took the quickest path to kill two people, didn't hesitate—and took in consideration that he would take out the third. How did she know that? What did he reveal to her—unknowingly—that she could come to the conclusion that he would strike?

She was what Lor had called an _Ageal_ , a true master. Just like Lor.

His forty eight hour surveillance on her drove him only to one conclusion: she was his ideal and his rival. And he could learn from her.

* * *

"Why do I have to stay, Ju?"

He had only about two thermal clips left for his Tempest SMG. His M-5 Phalanx was more for show than anything. However, the weight of his _Charon_ was comforting, the blade tucked against his waist. And if push came to shove, he always kept his talons sharp.

"Because, almost 68 hours ago we were bothered by slavers. We stand out too much together, Oli. I'm not risking bringing you along and landing us both in a bind. Again."

Olivia frowned. She was small for a 12 year old—even for a human, at least according to Lor—and when she sat back against the dusty divan her feet dangled above the floor. There was a lot about her that was eye catching, even for him. Her large brown eyes and "fey" features set her apart from other human children. Her silver—platinum blonde, the humans called it—drew a lot attention from slaver markets. In a place like Anubis, it set Julius on edge—even if she held his hand the entire time they were circling around the station, he was always afraid someone would cut his off just to steal her away from his protection.

Olivia tucked her chin closer towards her chest, frowning and almost cross eyed. He would have laughed if her right hand didn't glow a biotic blue. "Fine."

"Fine?" He tilted his head, hip cocked to the side. "No fighting? No clever one liner to make me feel bad?"

"No fighting. And the one-liners stopped working for two years!" She plopped herself on the couch and got into a coughing fit. "I'll stay."

"Oli."

"I promise! No tricks!"

Julius stared down at her for a moment before nodding. "If everything goes well, I'll be back by tonight. The vat-meat is over there." He pointed at the dilapidated dresser where two days' worth of food was vacuum stored. His stash ran out a day ago but he still had a tube of nutrient paste in his back pocket. It ought to last him—she needed the food more than he ever would so that's where he should be sliding the last of their credits. "The panic button—"

"I know how it goes. It's not like I haven't been left alone before, Ju!"

He chuckled, the faceplates near his mandibles lifting as he ruffled her blonde hair. It took some getting used to—but now he could appreciate how soft it was. "I won't be gone long."

He gave her one last nod before locking the door behind him. He drew the hooded cape around himself and brought it up. Walking down the steps and into the station, he was assailed again by the smell of sweat, grease—the sharp tang of raw eezo, as he passed a clerk. Two children ran passed him, and he dipped into an alley and felt something crunchy and sticky under his boot that he trailed for one too many steps. Anubis didn't have road signs or labeled districts or wards. That's what separated a traveler from a resident—and most of the time, that's what got travelers or tourists cornered in back alleys, mugged or killed or worse. He was familiar enough with Anubis from the times his family stopped by. Now, he was grateful for the knowledge that even if he stood out as a bare-faced turian—no one would think that he didn't know exactly where he was going.

It took four hours of waiting on one of the cargo boxes, hand extended out with a cup for people to drop chits into as they passed by, before the airlock of her ship finally opened.

She didn't look anything like she did more than two days ago. Her hair had been about mid-length with a fringe that covered her forehead, and was dark-red in color. She had green, green eyes that glinted like a knife against the torchlight. She was also well-geared, suited to how dangerous Anubis could be. Her skin was pale, as pale as Oli's—and the scars on her hands had stood out to him the same way Lor's did.

Now, she had that dark hair colored blond. Paint marred her feature—blue, a distinct blue that went across her nose, over her cheekbones, and at the outlines of her jaw. The color went well with the same green eyes, which were now less belligerent but no less bright. She had on a dress that was thin but with a shield activated that glimmered when she turned and sauntered past the crowd. She had a gait that widened the high slit that was cut through the back of her black and white dress. When she stepped out of the steel of the bay floor and onto the metal of Anubis station, she lifted the hood of her shawl overhead with unscarred hands and passed crowds and crowds of people, weaving through them unnoticed and silent.

Julius wouldn't have believed it was her, if he didn't know she had come out of the ship. Judging by who went in and who went out, he had concluded that the crew of the Temperament consisted of only two people— herself and the helmsman.

Old habits died hard as he climbed up the smaller stalls, lifting himself with ease as he leapt over roofs and through window panes. An Omega courier usually had to train in some kind of art—languages, marksmanship, schmoozing. All his young life, however, he preferred the human practice called parkour. It was his penchant for leaping on roofs and hanging on ledges that got Lor to adopt him in the first place.

He slid down from a pipeline and hid behind a non-functional kiosk right when they hit the market square. The only market in Anubis was the black market. It was teeming with salvaged tech, openly bartering in cases of red sand and smuggled refined eezo. Every five stores was a hole-in-wall pleasure house where groans were buried under the beats of stripper music.

"That's rather pricey for an A-41 Mass Generator." The woman spoke, her voice was higher than it was a few days back. Her accent was also heavily nasal. She covered her painted purple lips with the back of her hand and looked up at the turian merchant with wide eyes.

"I'm the only one in Anubis with this gear, Madame Claudia."

Her eyes sparkled at that. "Is that right? Maybe I can look for another model at a better price—"

"I'm the best price around here as well." He nodded. Straight-forward. "The Square tends to focus more on drugs and arms. Ship parts don't sell as well."

"That's not what I heard from Dar'Vine yesterday, Hexus."

"That quarian? Psh, come on Claudia. You know I'm good on my word. You've been brokering deals with me since you got here!"

Her hood fell a little away from her face then. Julius knew that he was staring at the paint on her face. Now he knew what it was—colony markings. Turian colony markings—from a high ranking family, judging by how the man trembled and growled with excitement.

"All right, I'll give you 20 percent off—"

"Sixty."

"Forty."

"Fifty."

He clicked his mandibles together. "A man needs to make a living. You tell your husband that I can't—"

"My husband will become a loyal customer. Someone well connected in the Hierarchy. Who has friends in the Hierarchy. But I'm afraid if you're not giving me the right price then I'll need to go to someone who will treat our family better."

"Fine, fifty. But—" His talons reached out to move the hood away from her face. "I'll need extra incentive. I'm a little curious as to how someone from a rigid family like the Vakarians would go for such—exotic tastes."

Julius stood to attention, the grip he had on _Charon_ was almost painful. It was definitely an unwanted advance. He was against helping her steal the generator but he could help her get away from his grip if he got close enough—

"Who do you think you're listening to, kid?"

Krogans. Two krogans. One took his arm and broke it, and before he could pull out the Tempest—the other one knocked him out cold.

* * *

Julius woke to the sound of screaming.

It took him several long seconds to realize that it was his screaming he was hearing.

His arm was still broken, he confirmed that when he tried to struggle and it didn't respond. Then the shock from the lightening rod came and he was frothing at the mouth, shaking against his binds.

"Finally, he's awake." The turian called Hexus, green-ish grey plates and white markings against his jaw. The turian equivalent of a sneer was sent Julius's way. "You've kept the lady waiting, boy."

"Don't mind me." The woman spoke, hood fully gone from her face. "This warehouse is marvelous, Hexus." She motioned at their surroundings, at the piled up salvage tech and even newer models littered around them. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

"I'm sure you'd make it up to me later, Claudia." His subharmonics were laced with playfulness, desire. But he turned his eyes to Julius and suddenly there were no emotions there. "Who sent you? Someone from the Hierarchy?"

"I'm not—" His scream was high and long. The krogan who broke his arm also held the rod and he laughed all too loudly. When Hexus gave the signal to stop, he was sure the quadless bastard delayed the order. Julius shook, coughing and twitching. He looked out at the one-way window and couldn't tell if the day ended—if Oli was worrying about him now. He just prayed she would stay in the apartment like he told her to.

"Really? A bareface like you? They hire kids like you with promises to give you a clan, paint to mark you—give you a rank in society. Don't lie—"

"I'm not lying." He didn't shout, didn't scream. He kept his voice calm even when it scratched against his throat. He kept his gaze solely on the woman. This woman. This fucking woman who pitied him only once and no more. "I don't care about the Hierarchy. I don't know anything about—Aaaagggh!"

"Claudia, go ahead and look around. You may find something your husband may like." Hexus gave the signal for the krogan to start just as Julius heard the woman's heels clicking away. "The kid isn't any fun—kill him."

Julius didn't think it would end like this. That he would do something so amateurish. Granted, stealth wasn't his strongest suit but to be found by the krogans was—insulting.

He heard the click of the thermal clip as the krogan loaded his shotgun. He thought of Oli, how alone she would be if he left now. Of Cain, that fucking asshole. Of Lor, and how he would mourn the loss of his son the same way he mourned that he didn't have the heart to reunite with his first child—

" _Das Abrul_ , my fathers," He said under his breath. " _Leave me a place in your circle when I pass from this realm to yours_."

Julius heard beeping first. And so did the krogan, because he moved back screaming before he reached Julius—squirming—before he imploded. Julius didn't have the strength to roll far away enough with his hands bound and his arm broken. The explosion was remote triggered, for sure, and small enough to blow up the krogan's carapace and the back of his head open. Julius struggled with deafness for a moment, off-balance and so close to throwing up but he had to make sure his eyes and mouth were closed when the blood and the guts flew in all directions.

The explosion threw the other's krogan's shields off. And just when he thought that the woman was far away from them, she had a knife buried deep inside the krogan's forehead plate and a gun that planted one, two, three bullets through his eyes at point blank range.

Julius turned back, screaming a warning that Hexus was still alive. But he wasn't, and he saw his _Charon_ sticking out from the back his throat and the blue blood that ran down the merchant's armor.

The woman's hair was a mess now—a tangle of blond strands. The purple lipstick had been smudged off and was still on the back of her hand. The pristine black and white dress had smatterings of orange blood and krogan guts, the hem was dirty with grime from Anubis herself. She kept her back to him, rifling through one of the krogan's pockets before she fished out a cigar and lit it, the stick hanging out of her mouth as she sighed.

"How does it feel—to be sold out?" She blew out the smoke, high above her yellow hair. "Krogan hospitality is a little heavy handed, huh?"

His eyes widened, some of that orange blood slid down his forehead and he grit his teeth. "You knew I was following you?"

"Since I saved you and the girl, yes."

"Why did you give away my position?"

She turned back. "Didn't need to. I just told the guards that I felt someone was watching me. They found you all by themselves. Krogan, of all people." She tossed the half smoked cigar to the side, stepped over what was mush of liver or kidney before she bent down in front of him. "You're lucky I was here."

"Why didn't you save me earlier—before, all of this."

She smiled. " _You needed a lesson on subtlety, Abi,_ baby brother." The old language slid out of her tongue like silk. It brought shivers down his spine. Before he could retaliate, she brought up her omni-tool and he felt the soothing powers of medi-gel go through him. " _Though, maybe it's not your fault. Turians aren't made for secrecy. But it was cruel of me—to test you."_

He nodded. " _It was."_

Her breath smelled distinctly of tobacco and burned leather when she whispered with a smile. " _But our Abrul,_ our father _, still knows how to spot potential, doesn't he, Abi? You didn't buckle. Not a bit. I saw the strength in your eyes. But, get up now. We can't stay for long and you need to help me carry the loot. We have much to talk about, much to learn from each other!_ "

She tinkered with her omni-tool again before she stood, freeing him from his binds and dispensed another dose of medi-gel. Now his broken arm was just a distinct ache when he rolled his shoulder and bent his elbow.

Julius's mind was overloading with information—the fact that she moved so fluidly in combat, the way she changed herself so completely, the scars on her hands—she was Lor's lost student, their eldest sibling. The person Cain was looking for to prove himself. The person he and Oli had talked about in secret, imagining in romanticized tones how great a person their eldest was by the stories of their father.

"Vera." He keened her real name. The name Lor spoke with such fondness and joy and sometimes remorse. " _I can't find them—I'm so tired,_ Vera. _I_ —"

At first he thought he would offend her. His cries became incoherent screeching and he couldn't summon the same strength he used when the krogan pointed the shotgun at his head.

Moreover, he thought he would offend her because Lor always said that their names were their destinies, their last wall against the world. True names had meaning, purpose. Revealing it to someone meant you trusted that person completely. But Lor had only ever referred to Vera by name, never by race or gender. And though he felt like he was kneeling before the grave of a long lost friend—he had neither earned her trust nor shown that he was worth it. Moreover, he didn't add the customary title of respect as Lor's first student and heiress, as the eldest of the Legion, as Julius's eldest sister.

She smiled though, all the ice and masks melting away to reveal a true face behind the colony paint on her skin. She knelt down, wrapped her arms above his shoulders. Her chin resting against his fringe as his keen scratched against his throat, his voice calling her name over and over again.


	48. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's early! Mostly because I still owe you guys for the late chapter. But partly because it's going to get busy again I'm probably going to post another two chapters (at random days-- because blargh) before November ends and then you won't see another chapter till nearly Christmas. D:
> 
> Nonetheless, enjoy! :D And belated N7 day!

**Chapter 41**

There was only one time that Shepard talked about dreams.

It had been a cold night in Omega and she had been drinking one of those fancy wines she liked so much. This one was from Kahje, which she had described as bitter as orange rind and thick as mud. Then again, she added, she should have expected it since Kahje was notoriously humid and rainy.

"Do you think you can convince Erash to get a little more sleep?" Garrus was examining some of the bolts on his Mantis at the time and had noticed a stubborn spot that couldn't be wiped clean.

"He'd rather not sleep, I'm sure." She looked lazily at her wine glass, her naked finger tracing the rim, slowly. Her sleeves were long enough to cover her whole arm and hands, save her fingers. They looked oddly long and delicate and numerous—it took a lot of self-control not to stare.

"Why not?"

"Some things that you avoid when you're awake comes back to you in dreams."

He paused at that, thinking that she would say more, but she didn't, didn't even look at him as she said it. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were red. The wine was horrible, the bottle was half empty. Conversation didn't pick up the rest of the night.

He understood now what she meant. Most night cycles, he woke up gasping— breathing lungs full of air, like he had dived under water and had barely saved himself from drowning. Most nights he didn't remember what the dreams were about but it left the plates near his neck hot, and the scales underneath moist with perspiration. Those were the better nights.

On other nights, he dreamt of hearing Nalah's voice.

 _Boss, it was Sidonis_.

It's all he ever really needed to hear before he keeled over. A pressure built under his heart, like someone had stuck a knife there and hadn't the decency to remove it to let him bleed to death. It's a pain that hadn't gone away even when he knew that Shepard was okay, that Alenko was now in control of the Collector mission, and that there was a home waiting for him in Palaven.

It's not going to go away. He knew that. Not until he put a bullet through Sidonis's head.

"Garrus," EDI's voice woke him. "We are approaching Horizon's atmo. ETA is 45 minutes, GS. The Commander has requested you be part of the ground team."

"Thanks," His feet landed on the floor as he swayed out of the cot. "I'll be ready."

* * *

Garrus let the Commander walk ahead of them, practically jumping out of the Mako. He wrenched off his helmet before slamming a fist into the control panel, causing the elevator doors to slide open. He didn't even call for a debrief time or wait for any of them before he let the doors close.

Garrus exhaled heavily, the set of his shoulders sinking while Lawson's gaze mutely followed the trail the Commander left—she hadn't said a thing when Williams started going off about Cerberus. She just stood back, let herself and her entire organization be berated. Apparently, Horizon had a thing for showing them all a different side of themselves because even the Commander's usual patience got oddly thin.

"Debrief in eight hours, GS." XO Lawson called out to him in an oddly neutral tone, rather than her usual superior one. She even nodded at him as she held the elevator open for both of them.

She went straight for her office. And though he thought about going back into the battery, he really wasn't in the mood to calibrate firing algorithms. Instead, he asked for the leftovers he had last night—some nutrient paste thing that was this pasty violet rather than the lush purple it was supposed to be. Gardner nodded, handed it to him with a glass of something cold and sweet that he was sure was loaded with vitamins. When he got to the mess table, Erash was there—and the humans who usually occupied—Goldstein? And another person he couldn't remember— those seats were off to the side. They were either scared or just shy, judging by how many furtive glances they gave his batarian engineer.

Going by the cross look on Erash's face, Garrus was sure it wasn't shyness that got them to stay far away.

"Bad day?" Garrus asked as he squeezed the paste out and tried to tell himself that this stuff was a lot better than the crap they were serving him on the SR-1.

Erash gave him a glance then sipped his coffee. "Worst day. Groundside?"

"Met Williams—old teammate." He swallowed the paste down and drank half his glass of mineral juice. "Let's just say she wasn't as happy to see us. Commander is taking it pretty hard."

"He hasn't been doing so well for a while, boss."

"Yeah." Garrus lifted his eyes from the table. "So, what have you been doing?"

Erash understood immediately that he wanted to drop the subject. "We're working on two projects. Trying to upgrade the Collector scramblers—prevent high volume of seeker swarms from finding us. Maybe bring more people groundside." All four of his eyes narrowed. "Also working on a side project. Shepard contacted us—both of us, Solus and I."

"Really? She's going by that name now?"

Erash nodded. "Sent a blueprint through secure channels. Made sure Cerberus didn't get their greedy hands on it. Already pulled out surveillance equipment and even the AI's feed." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, EDI. Obviously, can't discuss the details."

"I understand, Mr. Erash." EDI's voice came from the blip of her blue avatar appearing near the medbay before signing herself out again.

Garrus leaned back, surprised that Erash actually took the trouble to apologize to—of all things—an AI. "So, what's the problem?"

"Solus and I interpreted something wrong in the sequence. Now, 80% done, we have to scratch it or else the damn thing won't work when it links to her hardsuit."

"Her? Are we talking about the same Shepard I think you're talking about?" Garrus nearly jumped out of his seat when Kasumi Goto appeared, sitting beside him. Erash just rolled his eyes at her and told her in a miserable tone to go away. "We're not talking about the former Jane Shepard, are we?"

"Rai Shepard." Erash muttered. "Not Jane."

"So the old robin has finally stepped back into the limelight." Kasumi crossed her arms and leaned back. The thief had been popping up in the most inconvenient times since the Commander picked her up on the Citadel. "Something really big must have forced her hand if she's come back—with that name of all names."

"Kasumi, not to be, well, rude—but how do you know Shepard?"

"Oh, we go way back!" She poked Garrus, hard, on the shoulder. "To be more precise, she's Keiji's friend—she saved his life once. Went to prison for him." She looked down for a moment, at her hands resting on the table. "I wonder if she knows—what happened."

Alenko had explained to Garrus what a thief was doing in the Normandy. She had been commissioned by Cerberus to help their mission provided that they find out what happened to her long-time partner in crime, Keiji Okuda. Apparently, he went missing half a year ago and no one knows where he is or whether or not he's dead or alive.

"Anyway, I doubt you mean anyone else."

"Shepard is a pretty common name—"

"Legs that go on forever. Powerful green eyes that can crumble krogan warlords. Mistress of deception and subterfuge. Genius. Dangerous. Ruthless."

"Okay, maybe we're talking about the same person."

Garrus could see the thief's smile even through the shadow of her hood. She hid a silent laugh behind her hand, her shoulders rising and falling. "So, you two are together, huh?"

"Uh."

"Hah." Erash muttered. "We wish."

"Oooh, I smell a love story."

"What? No, we're not—it's not—" Nutrient paste forgotten on his plate, he itched to go back to get another glass of that juice but didn't want to appear gutless. "We're friends. Close friends. She was—working with us back in Omega."

"Hm, sounds like Shepard to be doing so well in Omega. How come she isn't with you now?"

"Baggage." Erash replied. "Complications. A long story."

Kasumi nodded again, totally understanding even if Garrus wasn't sure if she really understood at all. If any of that made any sense. "She's a pretty hard nut to crack. She's the best at what she does though. Keiji and her used to plan heists together, even before I met him. To say I was a little jealous sometimes was an understatement."

Erash blinked. "I never thought Shepard would be the type to interfere with someone's love life."

"Who said I was jealous of Shepard? I was jealous of Keiji! I wanted to plan heists with one of the youngest prodigies of the Underworld, too."

"Why do I think she was totally holding back when she was working with us?" Garrus said, offhandedly, staring at Erash for answers.

Erash shrugged. "Because apparently, you scared easy."

"Hey." Garrus's glare intensified.

Erash shrugged again. "Hard truths, sir."

Just when Kasumi was about to say something, Zaeed turned the corner from the elevator followed by Jack, both of them practically stomping before they both stopped in front of Garrus. Jack looked a little more grudging, arms crossing over her chest of tattoos and looking away. Zaeed was a little more honest, and obviously the spokesperson between the two. "Vakarian."

"Zaeed." Garrus nodded. Acknowledgement of the old mercenary didn't really excuse the fact that he had co-owned the Blue Suns at some point, but what it was now was beyond any of their control. At least, they agreed that they should rid the galaxy of the damn merc group and its leader. "Jack."

She scoffed and Zaeed rolled his shoulders. "I'll make this short, Vakarian. You should get your ass down to the Cargo Bay."

He was already standing when he asked, "Why?"

"The Commander. He looks like he's about to tear everyone a goddamn new one and he's making a racket. Bodies at Engineering are probably quivering in their boots but they can't leave."

Garrus nodded at everyone at the table before excusing himself. By the time he got into the elevator, he could already hear the trashing and sent the Spirits a plea for patience and strength.

* * *

For the most part, Garrus leaned back against one of the vents while the Commander pummeled a punching bag to dust. It didn't help that at the end of a few heavy punches, he would do a Throw that would have the bag doing somersaults, working the bolts and chains that kept it in place in the stand and making a whole lot of scary noises.

As far as Garrus knew, the Commander hasn't been sleeping well either. For turians it was less obvious—paler skin under the plates, but for him, anyone could attribute his own discoloring to his trauma with a rocket. Not to dreams.

He was sure the Commander dreamt, however. Dreamt of bad things by how dark the bags under his eyes were, like he'd smudge coal under them. About how he died, maybe. Or about the Protheans. And now, maybe about how he left Robinson at Virmire or how that Collector General knew his damned name.

He didn't need this problem with Williams.

By the time the Commander finally noticed Garrus, he had already shifted to one of the cargo boxes. Alenko's smile was a weak one, but it was there. "Hey, Garrus."

"Commander," He nodded back.

The shirt Alenko threw on was grey and stained with sweat. He wiped his lip with its sleeve, tried to get the sweat on his brow as well but even after all the wiping more dripped down. Nothing he wore now had the Cerberus logo on it, which was funny because everything the Commander wore these days had that damn insignia. Even their bath towels.

Alenko leaned against the cargo, right beside Garrus as he ripped through a nutrient bar and drained a canister of water. Garrus endured more seconds of silence as the Commander replenished his energy before he spoke. "Williams always had a temper. Remember when Robinson always used to try to talk her down?" Garrus chuckled to himself. "That always ended nicely."

"Yeah." Alenko replied, looking down.

"Commander?"

"Those colonists—" Alenko looked up.

"What about them?"

"No. It's nothing." He laughed, nearly breathless. His smile was strange but it was there.

Change of topic then. Garrus nodded. "Good thing we made it in time to save some lives."

"Yeah."

Apparently, it was harder to talk about the colonists. Maybe, they were closer to the real problem than Williams. Meeting her might have just drove something home. Something the Commander wasn't willing to discuss. Something, for all of worth of their friendship, Garrus didn't have the right to broach. "So, Williams—"

"Yeah." Alenko's face practically lit up at the change of topic before he looked back down. Damn, this was probably a problem he should bring up with Chambers. But would that really help? "I just wish we had a chance to talk before Horizon. A chance to explain myself. Hah." His shoulders rose and fell. "Of course she'd jump to conclusions: it's not like Miranda and the Cerberus logo gave her any room for interpretation, right?"

"I hear you, Commander." Garrus nodded. "Working with Cerberus isn't something I'd put on my calling card either."

Alenko managed to sigh and laugh at the same time. "We're riding to what might be our last mission and I'm thinking about this. Don't worry, Garrus." He slapped Garrus on the shoulder, now just noticing that he still had his armor on. "I'll be fine. Go get some rest. I'll—apologize to the guys at Engineering later."

Commander Alenko still stood, staring at something past the punching bag, his hands clasped in front of him. Garrus spared him one last glance before the elevators closed and lifted him back to the third floor, more worried now than before they had the conversation.


	49. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! How are we all doing?
> 
> Another update will be up next week, Sunday, Nov 23. This is to make up for another long hiatus. Reasons for those are 1.) DA:I is coming out, I am preparing to give my life to it, LOL. 2.) The holidays are rolling in-- which means a lot of things (i.e. a lot of birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, family vacation, etc). After Nov 23, I won't be updating until about December 20-23 (check in during that time for an update). And then, I'll be gone again until mid-January. Hopefully, I'll get to update my other IP's as well.
> 
> Anyway, thank you again for all the well-wishing, the long and lovely reviews and comments. I know I've thanked you all personally but I've only really managed to update so religiously because I know there are over 200 (across ff and Ao3) of you reading this with as much passion and fervor as I'm writing it. Thank you for your patience and your love.
> 
> Hope this chapter finds you well. Enjoy!

**Chapter 42**

Hexus had been a merchant, not a merc gang leader. He relied mostly on VI and mechs to protect his property and Shepard had disabled those as they made their way inside the warehouse. She took only what she needed—which was a lot—and had called in a shuttle earlier that day to have the wares moved to the _Temperament_ quickly.

With Julius, however, she took her time. The docking bay wasn't too far from the group of warehouses, and so she drove slow as Julius was still a little sore from what he endured.

Her little brother, her _Abi_ —the idea made her ecstatic, terrified. She had asked Lor if she would ever have siblings, but he kept silent and shrugged. She guessed Julius fidgeting on the passenger's seat was her answer.

"Is something wrong?" She asked in Galactic Common this time.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about my outburst, V—Shepard. It won't happen again."

"It's not a problem, Julius." She smiled as she turned slowly into merging traffic. "But when we get our _Adi,_ our little sister—then you're going to have to explain to me why Lor isn't with you."

That's when her skycar's VI's started beeping and her omni-tool started flashing. Sighing, she activated it and an audio holo flashed blue near the wheel. "Joker, is something wrong?"

"Uh, yeah. Shepard, I hope you're on your way back because we have a situation."

She swallowed. "Did something happen to Garret?"

"What? Oh, no, no. He's fine. A crapping machine, but all good. There's—well there's a little girl here who somehow made it through security. Blond. Doll looking."

Julius groaned—sub-harmonics laced with what could only be embarrassment as he buried his face in his hands. Shepard chuckled, speeding up. So, their sister had a little dare-devil in her. Lor really knew how to pick them. "How far in did she get?"

"Well, she only got to the Main Battery. The surveillance caught her the moment she got through the ducts. The _Temperament_ really knows how to welcome visitors but I thought I should watch her for a bit. Then I forgot that surveillance VI's weren't part of the ship's integration. They kinda shocked her out cold but I put her in the med-bay under guard."

"Joker, you shouldn't have let her inside in the first place."

"What can I say? I have a weakness for cute little girls."

"You're a dog." She laughed and he chuckled back. "I'm nearing the bay, ETA in ten."

"We?"

She turned to look at Julius who was still making those weird "Oh Spirits, just pull me into the Great Ocean already" noises. "Yeah, I'll explain when we get there. Shepard out."

* * *

Shepard had given Julius the space to watch over their _Adi._ But she didn't want to sit around and feel like she was invading something private. She had had the newly-acquired gear sent to the Main Battery. Doing a quick scan, she noticed nothing amiss except for the necklace with the Insignia of the League and the storage hardware Aelia gave her were lying on the floor.

Shepard frowned. She had taped them under the controls panel. How did the kid—then again, it was Lor who had taught her to do that. She sighed, not surprised that the child had thought to look under there first.

She fired up the mobile comm system to her omni-tool, then she set off to work, sliding under what little progress she made so far. She knew she'd have to go through a million channels before he got the hint to answer—she may as well do something productive while she waited.

It only took 50,000 pings instead of the usual million before he answered, realizing that it was her and not some sales peddler, as he told her last time. "Three years. I don't think I've heard your voice properly for a good three years, Jay."

"You know how it is." Shepard grunted, elbows deep in retrofits. Jane—Jay, he used to call her during down time back when they were in the Alliance together. "It's not safe—even with a so-called secure channel, to just talk. Besides, I send the usual mail every once in a while."

"Aw, come on, Jay, you know mails don't really cut it. You know how Mandy misses you. Talks about you all the damn time. If you couldn't give us two minutes of your time through comm I'm sure you could have found a way to skirt past Alliance Security."

"Don't you think that would have been pushing it? Right after I went AWOL with six other operatives? I have some shame."

"Well, they never did court martial me. Maybe they care less than we think."

Her chuckle echoed through the skeleton of her latest project. "You don't believe that."

"Not a bit. But, hey, I'm a damn captain now. I'm sure I could get some people to look the other way. Through my own influence even!"

Shepard slid out from under the pod, wiping her forehead with the back of her bare hands. This thing was taking more time and effort than it was worth. Supposedly, it was a way to vamp up the cyber warfare and battle suites. Right now, it was just a pain in the ass.

Sliding onto one of the stools, she opened her holo to connect to the camera in the Captain's quarters. Garret was still half asleep. Simultaneously, she sent one of the first seven—Ariel—a message that she needed to see her ASAP. She slid the camera feeds to the Med-Bay. The child was still sleeping and Julius, by her bedside, appeared calm if not for how many times he opened and closed his fists. Shepard figured him protective but maybe she had underestimated their sibling bond if he was going to be that worried about her just sleeping and being completely injury-free. "How is the kid doing, Ward?"

"Good. She couldn't stop babbling about the recording you sent her last Christmas. At least she gets to listen to your voice." Ward 'harrumped,' it made Shepard smile. "You only ever call me when you need something."

"Which reminds me, Captain—"

"Oh, here we go. Dropping the big titles. Are we done with small talk, already?"

"Azril," She never used his old name anymore. Not out loud nor during the sparse few times they spoke to each other. They both felt the weight of the title, of their shared past—in that single name alone.

His sigh echoed through the comm. "I'm sorry. Can't I talk to my best friend for five minutes and not have to think about—reality?"

She lifted her foot up onto the chair, resting her chin on her knee. "Times have never been simple."

"Yeah." He sighed again. She can imagine him running his hand through his dark hair. "What do you need, Shepard?"

"I lost a good friend of mine—just recently."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Jay."

"Yeah." Shepard took a deep breath. "She left her kids with me. I need someone I can trust to watch over them." It was a little white lie. She didn't need to feel so guilty about it when it concerned the safety of—siblings. Kids her father had adopted. Family. Family whose identities needed to be kept secret.

There were too many seconds of silence. She couldn't even hear Ward's breathing, something he tended to exaggerate when he had a hard time accepting something. Right now, she figured, she'd practically killed him with shock. "I thought you were planning to retire. Your email a few weeks ago—fuck, Jay, what have you been getting yourself into?"

"It'll take too long to explain."

"I'm the Captain of my own vessel. I have a lot of time."

It was her turn to sigh. Leaning back against her chair, she turned back to the holo of Garret who was still sleeping. "I promise to explain if you promise to take the kids."

"Weren't you always about fair trade?"

"You risk exposing both of us to hackers via this long call and you're talking about what's fair? All I need is a yes or a no from you, Azril. I can look for someone else."

It didn't take long for him to debate. She heard some tech through the other line, his voice seemed far away when he said: "Finn, change of course. We're heading to Nos Astra after we conduct our business. Shore leave, 48 hours. Drinks on me."

She closed her eyes when she heard him exhale deeply. "Helmsman reports our ETA could be a while, a few weeks. We need to make a short detour. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah." Shepard smiled. "Sara will be there." She tapped into her omni-tool to look at a reply. "And Ari."

He growled. "Whoop de doo. Ethan Ward, out."

* * *

"We ready to leave, Shepard?" Joker's voice said through the speakers.

"Yeah," She looked down at the pod, pleased with herself. "All the parts we legally purchased are installed. We'll need to find another place to get the other parts or have them made. Have the shipments arrived? Gear, levo and dextro provisions?"

"Aye."

"Then, let's not put our permits to depart to waste, Joker."

Joker whooped, it echoed through the halls as she approached the doors of the main battery. She slid on her necklace and brushed her shoulder length hair to the side. "I can't tell you enough how relieved I am that we're finally leaving this place. Lifting anchor—it's a long way to the Ammit relay."

"Nice and easy, helmsman. We don't want the pirates to know we pirated them."

"Aye, ma'am. What's in store for us in Nos Astra?"

"Fun, hopefully." She huffed. "Let's get out of this dump."

"Aye, ma'am."

Stretching, Shepard got a drink of water and a bite of vat-bread before she prepared two trays of dextro and levo provisions. When she walked into the med-bay, it appeared the girl was awake and was going at a thousand words per minute. And though Julius was far from the boy that had broken down at the warehouse not six hours ago—when he turned to Shepard, he immediately stood up and took the trays from her hands. He passed one to their Adi and then put his own on the edge of the desk.

Considerate. She put that in her mental list of things that categorized him before she moved closer to the bed the child was on.

The child. She was beautiful for such a frail, tiny thing. Julius had mentioned in the skycar that she was almost thirteen Earth years. But she didn't look more than nine by how frail and small she seemed. Her brown eyes were large and close to the color of amber and her blond hair was practically silver, and luminous. Shepard didn't doubt that she would grow to break hearts when the time came.

"Hello. My name is Rai Shepard. I am the Ca—"

The child was fast. When Shepard realized what was about to happen, she relaxed and let down her guard. Tiny arms went around her waist and she buried her face in her chest—never mind that she had changed into her op leathers and it was probably uncomfortable for the child to be hugging someone in armor.

" _You're real._ " She said fluently in their language, lifting her face to look up at her. Her hold didn't falter. " _You're real. Just as Abrul said. It's really you_." She moved back just a little to sniffle loudly. There were tears in her eyes but they didn't fall. " _Adira, older sister. You're real and you're here and—_ " The tears fell this time and she bowed. " _I've always longed to meet you_."

Shepard took her seat on the edge of the bed as the two children ate. She had put extra helpings on the tray but they both still ate like they were being chased. She waited patiently for them to finish and urged them to drink before they could even start talking.

When they were done and Julius had been the one to clean up after both of them and take their trays to the VI on stand-by, the child had reached for her gloved hand and had held it so tightly Shepard could only hold back just as tight.

" _Adira_ , this is Oli—Olivia." Julius's mandibles fluttered. "Our youngest. She was welcomed to the Legion six years ago."

"Six?" Shepard smiled and tugged at her hand. "Has _Abrul_ been teaching you since then?"

She shook her head, eyes bright. "No, _Adira_ , just a year ago. Just the battle arts. The dances."

"Oh? And how is it that you snuck into the _Temperament_ with such ease?"

"Because she only knows how to use her biotics for mischief."

"Ju!" Oli flushed red, kicking out her legs from the edge of the bed and glared at the turian. "Don't tell _Adira_ something like that!"

"Says the one whose motto is 'Anyone interesting is worth stealing from.'"

Shepard laughed. "Shepard is fine, Oli. We can't make it a habit to call each other by title. Especially, when we aren't aware of who is listening." She patted the top of her head when Oli turned to frown at her. "This ship is safe, of course, but let's call it practice." Her smile was wide when Oli started to argue but stopped when she caught the look Julius sent her and sniffed instead. "But let's start from the beginning: why are the two of you in Anubis? Where is Lor?"

The two exchanged a look and Julius nodded. Apparently, he was going to tell the story. "It's Cain—our other brother. He went out in search for you. He had eight leads on who you were, but he was determined to chase them all. Lor disapproved—he didn't want to interfere with your life, he didn't want us to disrupt it."

Another brother. The second eldest. She nodded, remaining calm in the face of frantic children while she shook inside. "Why was he—Cain— looking for me?"

"Lor didn't want to train any of us to become true masters, _Ageal_. He said—he wanted us all to choose what to become. But that he would teach us what he knew, to defend ourselves."

Shepard nodded. "That sounds like him."

"He was sorry he never gave you that choice."

She closed her eyes, remembering Lor—his large eyes, his low voice. The glowing lamplight of eezo on the table. The kingdom of rubble. "I would have chosen to become an _Ageal_ , either way. He—" She looked down at her gloved hand. "Always felt guilty about the Rites."

"Cain wanted to be an _Ageal_. But Lor said he wasn't ready." Oli interjected. "He got so fed up that he thought the only way to—"

"He wanted to prove himself." Julius nodded. He placed a solid hand on Oli's knee and she sniffed. "He wanted to kill you. Lor went after him and told us to stay put but we followed him and lost his trail."

"Kill me?"

"You're the next _Ageal_ of the Legion when Lor passes. Cain figured that if you were gone or if he proved to be your equal then—"

Shepard laughed. She was sure she sounded pretty mean as she covered her mouth. "Oh, this brother of ours sounds like such a treat."

"Lor went off to try to save you—"

"He's not trying to save me, Julius." She stood, patting him on the shoulder. "You said Cain had eight leads to follow?"

"He must have narrowed down the list by now but—"

"Those are all fake. He'll be met by phantoms." She walked to the door. "And when he meets those phantoms a trap will spring and snare him. No, Lor isn't going after our brother to save me—but to save him." She looked back, smiling. "It's getting late, kids. Get some decent rest, here, if you like—but you can ask the roaming VIs for the crew deck and they'll direct you to it. The restrooms are down the hall. But if you need me—I'll be reachable by elevator on the highest floor. We can continue this when you've all rested."

She let the doors slide close before her smile dropped and her eyes dimmed. It was good that she was going to meet with her friends from the Dominion—they all ought to be warned that a child was after their blood and not to kill him by mistake.


	50. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See you all mid-December. I'm leaving you with this horribly foreboding chapter till then.

**Chapter 43**

To say Alenko was being sloppy wouldn't be _entirely_ correct.

He worked fine groundside. The positioning was a little rough (like it always used to be) but he trusted his team to pull through with skill alone. And a team of hardened specialists and killers was like having the strength of a small army. The more challenging role was keeping them in line and Alenko had no problems laying the ground rules when they were on missions. No, Alenko wasn't doing too bad groundside.

He was neglecting the other side of crew management. Basically, making sure everyone was happy with each other and no one was going to stick a knife through someone when the night cycle hit and they were down to the skeleton guard. Ever since Horizon, Alenko was starting to—fold into himself, as he remembered Shepard using once—and barely spoke to his Cerberus crew. One time, he had come out of the Armory just as the Commander walked passed Chambers and into the elevator. She looked about ready to cry until Garrus told her it was—temporary. Just to bear with the Commander until he got his feelings sorted out. He stopped making his rounds around the ship, even with groundside crew, and he was never so indulgent before but not it was like the Normandy was being run by a ghost.

"My old CO wouldn't tolerate this." The Armory Chief, Amos Zion, lifted the tobacco off his lips with his thumb and index finger. Something about his laidback manner and easy confidence made him an unusual Cerberus man. The accent was also distinct and rare—drawling, but a different one from Lawson's. He was extremely laid-back compared to her—almost lazy if Miranda had anything to say about it.

However, he was the Chief of Alenko's security detail when he was in the Lazarus Cell, and was more than competent the few times he and Garrus had been taken groundside. He'd Pulled enough idiots Garrus's direction, just the right ones too—likely, he was used to aiding a sniper. And was enough of an asset that Lawson didn't fire him.

Garrus chuckled, flanging distinct. He never let Zion clean his guns or maintain them—a sniper always did that themselves, Garrus and even Massani. The three of them had met enough times in the Armory in silence, but a good kind of silence. And Massani never missed the opportunity to make fun of the stuffed toy pyjack on the port side. Zion returned the barbs about how nothing could be more embarrassing than mourning over a gun.

"I'm surprised you'd mention you had a CO, Zion."

"I had a life before Cerberus, Vakarian." He killed the tobacco, grinding it against the white ashtray. "Not that I believe in all of the Illusive Man's bullshit on human supremacy." His accent had especially hugged that last word. No doubt, he meant it to be entirely mocking. "But Cerberus does provide a good income and my daughter likes her dresses."

"And pyjacks?" He motioned at the stuffed toy with his head.

"Naw, Vakarian." He smirked, almost shyly. "She didn't inherit her pa's love for the critter. Nope, that toy was given to me by my old CO."

Garrus looked up from cleaning the barrel of his sniper rifle. He blinked several times. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. We had shore leave on Ferris Fields once—aptly named, nothing but wild life and bugs as far as the eye can see." He leaned back against the window, arms crossed and his grey eyes looking far away. "But there wasn't much separating man from the Lord—sky and land met like two lover's hands intertwined. Oh, that isn't why it was aptly named though—it's because they got the best carnivals. Been to any of those, Vakarian?"

"I—don't think so."

"You're missing out. Dangerous rides with barely a safety hatch on anything. Little kids running around with snot and tripping all over the places. Ferris Wheels and Ferris Fields, get it? Candied apples—I don't reckon you've had the pleasure of eating those on the count that you're turian and you'd die—but you'd die happy because those are sweeter than kisses. Then again, you can't kiss. Touching forheads ain't bad though—and I reckon anything is better than how the hanar get intimate."

Garrus let out a laugh against himself. "Zion, did your old CO also tell you that you talk way too much?"

"Vakarian," Zion actually rolled his eyes. "I am your senior by a good seven years. I have every right to waste your damn time with inane chatter." He coughed. "And to make a long story short, the CO won it throwing rings and handed it to me with a wink. She never did make fun of me about the pyjacks—why does no one else find them adorable?"

Vakarian chuckled. "She knew how to handle her crew then."

"Had us all wrapped around her little finger. Although she did run a ship tighter than a virgin. And would never permit me to say it that way. Would sooner smack me with the butt of her rifle, that she would. But she was—an amazing person." He snorted. "She never tolerated sloppiness but she cared for us as people. Ze-ro superficial bullshit. Nil forced rounds to calm the crew down. She talked to everyone because she wanted to. Sat down with us, suffered with us, and laughed with us.

"Naw, Vakarian, I hate to compare since the Commander is an old friend of yours but you're doing the better job of sitting down and listening to everyone's concerns. Poor Ms. Chambers would have drowned all of us in CIC deck if you didn't have the decency to comfort her."

The back of his neck felt hot. The urge to scratch was strong but his hand was covered in gun oil and he's hate to look embarrassed in front of someone who'd probably tease him endlessly. "That's not true."

Zion rolled his eyes again. It never looked so insulting on any other human before. He ran a hand over his short blond hair—re-growing from a formerly fully shaved head. "Aw hell, Vakarian, don't blush about it like a young girl. I'd like to think we're friendly enough to speak the truth to each other. The Commander is gripping at damn straws when it comes to dealing with his Cerberus crew and everyone is suffering for it." He nodded. "His lucky he has you at his six."

"I haven't—"

"You purchased those FBA what-the-hells. Bought the better provisions when we stopped by the Citadel— I can actually reach my calorie limit. Hell, you've been chatting with the old girl in the med-bay while she drank to tears. Do I need to talk about the ground side crew?"

"I'm not—"

"You actually talk to Jack and no one even wants to go near her. You've discussed ship affairs with Lawson, which the Commander hasn't done seriously since Horizon. Zaeed likes you. Goto actually materializes for you. The Solus and Erash—well, you guys have history so that makes a damn deal of sense. Heck, I think EDI likes you and she's an AI." He huffed. "You're doing a damn good job, Vakarian filling in for where the Commander is lacking. You don't need to deny that you're not just doing it to help him out."

Garrus couldn't remember a time he'd neglected to talk and clean his rifle. Not even while he spoke to Shepard on their late night meetings back in Omega. But the grease and the rag felt cold in hands now, and his cleaning was barely halfway done.

"No need to bow your head, kid." Zion nodded. "You can care about people and not just because you need them for a suicide mission. It's a good thing. The best thing. There's no need to be ashamed about caring for people. Especially when those people have no one to care for them."

Garrus closed his eyes. His visor was hot against his face—the names carved their tracing scars in their mirror image to the unmarred side of his face. He told himself not wrench it off and throw it away.

Instead he inhaled deeply, nodding with a short thanks that Zion returned with a nod. He lit another cigar just as Garrus left, he felt the Armory Chief's honest eyes follow him even after he was back at the hollow cave of the Main Battery.


	51. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone! I was too busy to post this until now (apologies to those who dropped by before Christmas). I hope this more than makes up for it.

**Chapter 44**

Zion's words followed Garrus. Plagued him.

He didn't want to feel responsible for another crew. Not one that was destined for a one-way trip. He didn't want to be responsible for the Commander—who had to admit himself to therapy, if not for his own sake, then at least for the mission's.

Nonetheless, Garrus found himself sitting in Lawson's office as they discussed—of all things—budgeting. He hadn't realized that Lawson did something so domestic on a state-of-the-art war frigate. But they were in a bind when it came to raw materials for research, and she had invited him to her office about exploring planets and excavating more Palladium for some much needed ship improvements.

"We could stop by the Malgus system while we're still in the Eagle Nebula." Lawson nodded to herself, arms crossed over the holo map on her desk. "We have enough probes, don't we?"

"As far as I last checked—unless Jack decided to write her name on one of the planets again." He hummed. "I should have taken her vandalism story more seriously."

Lawson chuckled. Garrus had taken it upon himself to learn how to make the Cerberus officer laugh. He wasn't quite there yet but he didn't want to give up hope that she had no sense of humor. Zion had bet 7000 credits on it. He'd been a vigilante—that amount was more than Garrus could put together in the first few months of his campaign. Cerberus must really pay well if the Armory Chief can say that offhandedly.

"It shouldn't be a problem though, Lawson." He nodded. "Did the Commander say where we're heading to next?"

Lawson visibly tensed. The whole ship had been pretending that Alenko was still moving the navigation system around so the pilot could hit the FTL to the next mass relay they were set on. No one wanted to confirm that it had been Lawson plotting their destinations. All Alenko ever really did was lead the ground teams and then run back to the Captain's Deck to—well, Garrus didn't really know what he was doing up there.

"We have dossiers of potential specialists on Ilium." She snapped back to her usual, cold self. Miranda wasn't all ice though—not the same way the Mess Sergeant or Zion had put it. He knew what a mask of ice was like, he'd stared at its face for long enough. Shepard was the queen of it. Miranda was more a mask of superiority—it was cold, true—but it had cracks all round it if you poked enough. One of those cracks was Kaidan Alenko. "I—Commander Alenko was hoping we would chart a course there after probing for raw materials."

He huffed, sub-vocals flanging along with it. "How long are we going to pretend the Commander is okay?"

"For as long as we need him to run this mission." Lawson's voice was powerful—it held the right lift of command. And she was suitable for command—he wondered why the Illusive Man bothered with resurrection when he had plenty of people as capable as Lawson and Zion on his team. "For as long as he's necessary."

"Necessary? Lawson, I hate to say this but the Commander is tearing himself apart. Maybe I don't know humans as much as Chambers does but he's showing signs of PTS—"

"I know what he's showing signs of, Officer Vakarian. But he doesn't want to submit himself to treatment." Apparently, it was a word Lawson didn't want to face. She turned away to the stars outside her window. "I've made it my job to know everything about Commander Alenko. And I know I can't force him to do something—he doesn't trust me enough."

Garrus nodded. Lawson was professional enough to admit that there would be no love lost between her and Alenko if she tried to strong arm him into therapy. "Like how he's purposely delaying opening the pod with the tank-grown krogan because you said it might be useful? Don't take it to heart, Lawson. He's trying."

Miranda visibly swallowed. His experience with humans taught him that wasn't a good sign. "He—he plans to space it."

Something cold shot up Garrus's spine then. "He plans to what?"

"It's against everything Alenko would do according to his psych profile. I didn't want to believe it but he looked serious when he said he would throw it out the airlock when he got the cha— Vakarian! Where are you—"

Her own doors betrayed her because they closed shut as he ran to the elevator. "EDI, has the Commander given the command to throw the tank out the airlock?"

"Negative. Life signs in the Captain's deck suggests that the Commander is in a fitful sleep. He has given me orders to wake him in two hours, GST."

He slammed his fist against the elevator interface to head down to Engineering. "Belay those orders, EDI."

"Garrus, you do not have the authorization—"

"Let Kelly Chambers know about what the Commander planned to do with the tank. As our resident psychologist, I think she has a lot of damn authorization to stop Alenko from himself."

When he reached Engineering, his head was reeling, but he knew what he had to do—knew that Alenko and even Lawson would stop him from trying. Hell, all his instincts as a turian told him this was the worse idea he had ever had and it's been a while since he decided to stop a rocket with his face.

He locked the doors behind him as he entered the Cargo Bay.

* * *

Humans had a way of over-reading what was right in front of them.

Garrus figured this out as he leafed through _Idioms for Idiots_ , remembering the sober nod Krul sent him because the salarian knew that some of the things human said in place of the truth were just ridiculous. They tagged symbols on everything. Forced things to be what they weren't.

Commander Alenko had been a symbol to his people. Hell, he was a symbol to the whole galaxy. Humans, turians, asari—they all admired and respected what he did for the Citadel. But Alenko was not a symbol—he wasn't anything more than he ever was: a good soldier, a good man—and he damned well deserved whatever rest he needed.

Cerberus had better get that idea into their system before they start using the "necessary" excuse. Killing batarian slavers was necessary. Offing mad doctors was necessary. Saving leaders, even at the cost of human lives, was necessary. Necessity was ruthless calculus.

Ruthless calculus was very different from forcing a soldier unfit for duty to wear his armor, strap his gear on, and smile for the cameras.

"Garrus, you do not have the authorization to—"

"Sorry, EDI." He opened his omni-tool, tapping in a few sequences that Erash had given him that had the internal comm and security system scrambling. It would only work within Cargo Hold but it would still be a problem for an AI and would override her authority in the space.

Humans needed assurance, didn't they? The Commander didn't get the assurance that he wasn't the only one suffering through this mission, that Garrus had his damn back whether he wanted it or not. And that meant really picking up the slack where Alenko was failing.

He hit record on his visor before he brought up the tank's GUI interface, switching the controls online manually.

The glass slid down and the levo-protein liquid fell in a rush. The krogan slid out, managing to land on his feet as he choked and opened blue eyes at Garrus. Readings from the visor told Garrus that he was fully cognitive now, and aware that he was right in front of him.

The krogan charged with all the force and speed of a Mako. Garrus held his ground, bracing himself against the floor with his hunches and the krogan and him met—Garrus's weight and strength braced against all of the krogan's ferocity.

"Turian." The krogan growled. "Male."

"Krogan." Garrus replied. "Male—probably."

The comment seemed to piss the kid off and he added more of his brute strength to push Garrus down, Garrus spun at the right moment—deft and weightless and the krogan slammed himself into the wall.

Garrus stood behind him as the krogan shook himself up, turning back with a feral grin. Apparently, that had impressed him and he laughed. "You're not taking it easy on me. Good. I need a name before you die."

"Ga—" The krogan was faster than he thought krogans were capable of for their size. But this one was a little smaller, a little more agile. When he had Garrus pinned to the other wall, Garrus managed to at least lock their positions so he wouldn't get thrown off and possibly killed.

"Not your name, turian. Mine." His blue eyes met Garrus's. "I am trained. I know things but Okeer has failed to implant a connection. His words are hollow."

Garrus hadn't been present when they were at Korlus. The Commander had taken Miranda and Zaeed with him. He came back to the Normandy, displeased that they had ended up with Okeer's legacy instead of the warlord himself. Legacy—the name made Garrus laugh in spite of himself.

The krogan seemed to find this interesting, as he scrutinized Garrus, his right eye hovering over him. "I didn't think turians were capable of delirium when they sensed their death." The krogan narrowed his hovering eye. "Warlord, Legacy—" Garrus laughed again and the krogan's glare became sharper. "What is it turian?"

"The name doesn't suit you."

"Hah." He applied some pressure on his arm. Garrus tightened his hold on the krogan's shoulder. "At least we agree on one thing, turian. But Grunt. That name was among the last words Okeer spoke." He inhaled heavily. "I am Grunt. If you are worthy of anything, turian. Prove yourself and try to destroy me."

Explaining to a krogan that Garrus had opened the tank to save his life didn't sound as impressive as it might have been. Were krogans always this bloodthirsty immediately after waking up? It did sort of explain everything. "It's not my place to kill you. I am not the CO of this vessel. But I promise you that we have a lot of things to kill and destroy—and that is what you want, isn't it?"

"You are not in command of this vessel?"

"I came in his place to extend an invitation for you to join our team."

"Your commander didn't even have the courage to face me himself." Grunt growled. "Your leader is weak. As you are _weak_."

That had Garrus's gut twisting. He was still taller than Grunt, and despite not being able to brace more force into it, the headbutt he managed to deliver onto a soft forehead plate— one way softer than Wrex's had been— was still powerful enough that Grunt howled. The impact made him stagger back until his legs gave way and he kneeled.

He pulled out his Carnifex, mandibles sliding into a snarl. "Our Commander would have killed you. I think you owe me your life, krogan, that I came down here instead of him. Well? Do you want to join us or die?"

Grunt laughed. "Turian, I am surprised you are not leading your own krantt." Garrus willed himself not to think of Krul or Vor or Sensat. "If you and your Commander have weak enemies—"

"You'll see for yourself that they are far from weak."

"Then you will witness the skills in my blood. I will join you." Grunt stood up. "What is your name?"

"Garrus. Garrus Vakarian." He still had his pistol trained at Grunt's head.

Grunt laughed. "Garrus Vakarian. If I find a clan—find what I want, I will be honored to pit them against yours."

"Welcome to the team, Grunt." Garrus dropped his gun with a nod. With Grunt's back turned towards him, he pulled out his omni-tool to deactivate the scramblers and opened the door to the Cargo Hold. "EDI, send this video, I'm about to link up to the Commander's private terminal. I'll be in the Main Battery, when he needs me."

* * *

It didn't even take a whole hour before EDI's interface popped up behind him.

"Garrus," EDI's voice somehow managed to sound apologetic. "The Commander would like to see you in his quarters."


	52. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, right on time (ish). I am at the end of January, aren't I?
> 
> I've been neglecting this fic, but for a good reason! I've been working on something else and it's taking up a lot of time. A little pet-project compared to this monster but it's pretty heavy. So heavy a censored version of it will be up in ff dot net- (yes, it's that kind of dark fic). But it will be uncensored here in ao3 (love ao3 for that). I'll let you guys know when that's done though.
> 
> But for this chapter there is a WARNING.
> 
> Warning: Symptoms of PTSD (such as threats of and actual self-harm, violent flashbacks). Violence. Some heavy swearing. Be warned.

Chapter 45

He removed his visor before he made his way up to Alenko's cabin. Garrus didn't want to see the biometrics or the thermal scans of the crew on his way up. By now, he was sure whatever noise he and Lawson or Grunt had made enough scuttlebutt in the Normandy to last all of them a lifetime.

But that was good. At least now they'd all start talking about what the problem was.

He was expecting anger, though. And yelling. Garrus had removed his armor but had put on a pair of pants and left the underweave of his armor on. He didn't want to look imposing—he was already a turian, if anything else should provoke the Commander to start fighting him then Garrus wouldn't be able to forgive himself for fighting a sick man.

"Garrus," Kasumi appeared at the entrance of the elevator, her tactical cloak dissolving. "I'll alert the doctors that you're going up there and that they should be on stand-by."

Garrus appreciated how softly she spoke and he nodded. She disappeared again just when he boarded the lift.

The doors to the Captain's cabin slid open when he touched the panel.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of human blood.

It rose from the floor of the Archangel base to the ceiling, fumes like gasoline. If he could set it on fire to burn away the memory of it, he would—at least ashes were preferable to the graves he couldn't visit. Melanis said she would remove their bodies but the floor had already drank their blood—

Now wasn't the time for his pain.

Garrus couldn't remove the scent or ignore it but he could work past it, even if it was everywhere. The aquarium Garrus and Kaidan had been so fond of was broken and the water stained the floor beneath his feet. The ships the Commander managed to collect were in pieces, mixed in with broken glass. And the display case itself had the couch and tables thrown through it like a water-bound ship parked through the harbor instead of the bayside. Garrus moved to turn on the lights, but those were all busted too. It seemed that the only thing working in the room was the audio comm.

Garrus climbed down the steps, his weight crunching against the debris and eddies Alenko had left behind as he sat—head bowed down against knees and his wounded bloody hands clutching against his ankles. Blood stained his uniform and the crumpled, shredded sheets of his bed covers and pillowcases.

When he came to stand at the foot of Alenko's bed, the man was mumbling. All this craziness was illuminated by the stars above them as they flew through the Eagle Nebula.

"I almost k-killed it—him." Alenko visibly swallowed while his shoulders shook. "A krogan. Sentient—b-but incapable of defending himself while he was in the tank. I almost killed him."

Garrus had always been amazed by how pristine Alenko always looked in his uniform and armor. From his hair to his clean shaven face and his shiny boots. But recently in battle, even if he seemed more than focused there was the grease of neglect on the man's hair and face. His eyes were often red, and he hid his unevenly shaved chin under his N7 helmet.

Garrus eyes moved to the side of the bed and found a mountain of syringes—potent stims.

"Commander." Garrus took an experimental step forward. "It's just a little miscalculation. Don't—"

"I always screw it up!" Alenko Threw the only other couch against the ceiling. It bounced in place as it shook the walls. Garrus strafed to the left, aware that there were still things the Commander could throw at him. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let Alenko hurt him—he didn't want his friend to blame himself for that too. "Like the humans who depended on me in the Citadel! But I sent them—all of them— to their deaths! What for? For a Council that doesn't give a fuck!"

His whole body glowed blue and something burst on the desk—likely the terminal, and it scorched the couch that had already gone through the display case. And the power of biotics hummed and buzzed all around them.

"Just when I had the chance to redeem myself—after I died—and everything I saw were so many stars and I couldn't breathe. They resurrected me—stupid, incompetent me! And I couldn't save them in Horizon. They keep looking down at me from the sky, Garrus! Look, look!" Alenko moved towards him on his knees, groping blindly for anything to hold onto. His grip was painful—even for all of Garrus's plates—and the Commander wasn't aware because all he wanted Garrus to do was look up with him. "They're blaming me. Just like she did. Just like she did when she blamed me for being alive."

"Alenko," Garrus reached out, holding him by the crook of his elbow. "Williams didn't mean for this. It's not your fault."

"I arrived too late. They depended on me. They died because I was too slow. Why didn't Cerberus make me better—stronger? Cerberus." He said the name with such venom that Garrus almost stepped back. "They did that to Toombs too. And the experiments. And the people—they made me kill those people. The Protheans burned in Ilos. God, Garrus—help me please, please. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

"Alenko," His sub-vocals were pleading and helpless. "Come down with me to the infirmary. We'll talk to Doctor Chakwas, and Mordin—" He stopped himself from mentioning Chambers, fearing the name might trigger something. "They'll help us—

"No!" The lamp on the side table flew, the tables behind Garrus rattled. They rattled and rattled like a snake, ready to uncoil and sink its teeth into Garrus—breaking plates and skin until poison ran down his bloodstream.

"No, no! They can't make me better! I have to be better!"

Then suddenly Alenko smiled—it almost looked real. "I know." He scrambled back, hand searching under his pillow and pulled out his pistol.

The tables rattled and rattled. Biotics hummed and buzzed.

"Alenko, don't—"

"It's simple. I'll kill myself and you can tell Miranda to bring me back to life. Only better. I have to be better, Garrus or else I'm worthless." Alenko's smile had too much teeth and bright, bright eyes. "It won't be just like old times. It'll be better than the old times, right, Garrus?"

Garrus reached out but Alenko had already put the gun to his temple. A roar ripped out of his throat, and he leapt. But Alenko was too far. He was too far—and Nalah burned in front of his eyes, nothing but a body of ash—

Kasumi had plunged the syringe into the Commander's throat, standing above him on the bed—as she materialized. The Commander's eyes slid shut, gun loose in his hand before it fell. The tables stopped rattling, the buzz of biotics stopped. The humming was silenced. Kasumi managed a small smile and a nod. Garrus slumped to his knees, the broken glass crunched beneath him. He mustered the strength to nod back as Kasumi pinged the medical team.

Garrus was breathing hard, eyes wide as he watched Kasumi kneel down behind the Commander. She braced him against her as the medical team came through the door and Dr. Chakwas instructed them to carry the Commander out.

"Vakarian," Zion's hand on his shoulder was large and warm. "You did good, kid. It's—the Commander can only get better from here."

"Did I really do any good?" Garrus whispered, face against the covers of the bed, the stench of human blood rising up from the mattress, filling up his senses. "Or did I just push him off the precipice to the point of no return?"

"Better that he know the faces of his demons, if they are demons at all."

Garrus closed his eyes. "Something your old CO used to say?"

"Nah." Zion's hand tightened on his shoulder. "You did the Commander a favor. Believe that."

"I'll try."

Garrus kept his head bowed.


	53. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has come to that point where my writing and my posting has caught up with each other (damn, I know) so expect the updates to come even slower. Not that I'm trying to stress anyone out- no matter how much I wait in front of the computer, intending to finish a chapter, nothing is getting me to move. Apologies for those who are waiting but thank you for staying with me for these long, long months.
> 
> Just you know, hope the spell breaks and my word count rises. All it takes is a little magic and I could get writing again.
> 
> Cheers!

Shepard looked up from her terminal, leaning back against her chair. Blinking several times as she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat, she looked around the room for something else to look at.

Julius was helping to keep an eye on Garret, taking measures that only someone as careful as him would. He had already fortified the bed with a barricade of pillows and had even pulled the crew cots from downstairs to create this fort of cushions in case Garret could half stumble and half crawl out of there too fast for Julius to catch him in time.

Impossible, Shepard had thought, from how closely he was eyeballing the child. But then Julius had argued the opposite. She shrugged, who was she to argue with a turian who had datapads of evidence proving that Garret would be exposed to harm in nearly 20 different ways if he didn't cocoon the child in the cushion fort. She had looked them over and the numbers were actually sound.

"Shepard, what's wrong?"

Then she had that little sneak thief of a devil, Olivia, who had this thing for crawling into spaces she shouldn't be crawling into and taking things she shouldn't be taking. When Shepard was fully alert, she knew exactly where the kid was and what she was doing. But, like right now, she'd surprised even Shepard at how quickly and softly she could approach her, and Shepard wouldn't know until the devil was right next to her.

Not that she'd show the surprise on her face.

Turning back to the terminal, she switched it off and gave Olivia a smile. "Nothing, sweetie."

"Lor said you're an excellent liar." Oli nodded. "He's right. But I still know you're lying to me. You looked really pale when you thought none of us were looking."

One of her eyebrows lifted and she moved her shoulder length hair back. She should probably get it cut again. She was fond of the hairstyle Aria chose—its only problem being the fact that Aria chose it. "Nothing you should concern yourself with, Oli." She ran her own fingers through Oli's silver hair. "I just heard from somebody that an old friend is ill. It wasn't entirely unexpected but it came at a very bad time."

"How long till your friend gets better?"

Shepard shook her head. "I don't know."

Oli frowned. "Lor is sick too." She sniffled—she seemed to have this perpetual allergy. Shepard had tried every program to find out what it was she was allergic to but to no avail. Maybe she always had a cold because she had a weaker immune system? "He was just getting better when Cain left."

Shepard frowned. "Is it serious?"

"Lor said it wasn't. But he's an excellent liar too."

"Let's not talk about such sad things, Oli." Shepard ruffled the girl's silver hair. She smiled her best smile—not that it was any good compared to the one Oli gave her. For a girl that was supposed to be thirteen she was very small, small enough that Shepard couldn't exactly resist the urge to lift her up and put her on her lap. Oli laughed, then put her arms around Shepard's neck.

"You're really warm, older sister, _Adira_ Vera." She muttered into Shepard's shoulder. Lifting her nose to Shepard's hair, Oli took a whiff. "And you smell nice."

Shepard laughed. "What an old geezer thing to say, Oli."

"I'm not a geezer! No one in the family likes hugs!" Oli huffed. "Ju's okay with hugs but Cain makes fun of him for it. He's warmer than anything too. Lor hugs but it's always too short and he's busy. Cain is a meanie-pants so he'd rather pinch my cheeks." Oli took another deep breath. "But none of them smell as nice as you." She paused. "But I still miss them both, _Abrul_ and _Abrue_. I want all of us to be together soon, _Adira_."

Shepard reached for the child's head, stroking her hair. "I don't like hugs much either." Or touching, but she couldn't tell the child that. Children needed comforting—both physical and emotional— even she knew that much. "But you can ask me any time. I won't say no, _Abi_ , baby sister."

Olivia moved back so she could look Shepard in the eye. "Even when Cain makes fun of you?"

Shepard nodded. "Even when Cain makes fun me."

"Garret's really warm too. And small. And he smells really nice too—"

"Oli, this old geezer thing has got to stop—"

"What if he wants a hug and I want a hug and you can't fit both of us in your arms—who would you hug?"

"Garret."

"You didn't even hesitate!" If anything could be angrier or redder—Shepard stopped herself from laughing as the kid's jealousy took over. "What if I need the hug more than Garret?"

"You can't need a hug more than, Garret." Shepard chuckled. "He's a baby. He doesn't know how to wait yet but you can."

"But what if I can't wait?"

"Then get a hug from someone else—"

"What if I want a hug from you?"

"Then you have to wait—"

"Hmph. I hate babies." Oli seethed. "Especially, Garret. Even Ju likes him!"

"Ju seems to like everyone, dear."

"But he's supposed to like me best!"

"Oli," Shepard laughed. She leaned her forehead against the child's and she finally stopped spitting and grinding her teeth. "Garret is my ward, practically my son. Learn to love him, at least for my sake"

"It's not fair that you met him first. If we met first, you wouldn't want a baby." Oli tightened her hold around Shepard's neck. "And I don't poop or fart as much as he does!"

That was as much acceptance and resignation from someone as stubborn as Oli. Shepard laughed, still running her gloved fingers through the child's silver hair. She remembered having experience this sort of air before. Ethan's daughter, Mandy, was less headstrong but intelligent. And Shepard had been fond of her, loved her even. She still sent her audio logs when she could.

Shepard contemplated removing her gloves. She could have taken them off but for the children to see scars as grotesque as hers too often—she didn't want them to get used to it. She could count in one hand the number of times she's seen even Lor's Rite scars.

She kept the gloves on, always. Even now, surrounded by more family and children than she thought possible. She'd even promised to hug someone at any time—and Shepard hated hugs. What would her friends think if they saw this? What would her enemies do?

They'll wait, she thought as she held Oli longer. Until she reached Ilium, until she had to hand the kids over to Ethan's custody—they'd all have to wait their damn turn.

* * *

Nos Astra, despite being a hub of progress and Intelligence, was still a proud city run by asari. And just like any inflated head, it was full of air and open spaces. In contrast to Anubis, Ilium's Nos Astra was easy to slip into unidentified.

Although, it also did help that her long time info broker, Hestia, lived in the capital, but who cared about the details?

Shepard avoided contacting Liara, as much as it would be nice to say hi—who was she kidding? It wouldn't really be nice to say hi. She knew it was wrong to be angry about the Cerberus intervention—they were doing the galaxy a huge favor, reviving Alenko. But if it was money and minds that were needed, then Shepard could have paid for it.

There was nothing anybody could do about it now, however. He was alive. A glorified errand boy for the dogs, according to Hestia as well as some Intel sent to her by Ward and his connections. Garrus and Mordin's recruitment proved, at least, that a grand scheme was unfolding. And it was breaking him.

PTSD. Shepard had her own share of that. Statistics said that two out of ten human war vets are affected by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The numbers were direr back when space flight wasn't discovered and Prothean Relics hadn't advanced humanity to what it was today. However, depending on a soldier's or warrior's experience, those numbers could definitely increase. For all the R&D on space flight and tech, research on the human psyche was still full of unknowns.

Two years ago, Commander Alenko had agreed to hear her out—to make use of her talents in Intel gathering and strategy to map out courses—flight plans on locations where they might find out more about the Reapers in between "fighting geth." Even then, he was under a great deal of stress and expectations—from the Council, from the Alliance, from his team, and from himself—not a lot of people could handle that much pressure.

Commander Alenko bore it with great suffering. But he also had the essential support to make it through. People who trusted him and people he could trust. He had a relationship with Williams that was rocky but at least allowed him some timely diversions.

"You were Alliance, weren't you, Rachel?"

She had looked up from her datapad to meet Commander Alenko's gaze. He was leaning his elbows on the table between them. They usually met in open places like this café—restaurants, hotel lobbies—in plain sight. Often, the Commander would bring Garrus along as security detail up until he left him for Spectre training.

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

Alenko shrugged. "Garrus said it was the way you carried yourself—your armor, weapons—that you had to be either former military or went through special training. That's not what clued me in though."

"Yeah?"

He nodded, resting his chin on his laced fingers. "I watched the video, Akuze—thousands of times. I'd hate myself if I couldn't recognize you. Especially your voice."

Rachel's—at that time, she was Rachel—eyebrow rose high. "Well now, the Alliance puppy is finally showing he has some teeth. When did you realize?"

"When you hissed 'motherfucker' under your breath when that turian was giving us a hard time the other week we met up—same inflections. That could have been a coincidence but not when I cross referenced it with your skill set. That's too hard to replicate. Plus, the things you said about Cerberus and Toombs." He smiled when she shook her head. Despite it all, she was impressed, what could she say? "And now genuine surprise and breaking character? You must have really underestimated me."

Her smile showed teeth. "Careful, Commander."

He smiled back. "We don't have to tell anyone else. I don't have any intention on prying either. You—must have valid reasons for leaving the Alliance and working outside the law."

"Hm," She studied him. Only a few weeks ago, he would have frozen under her scrutiny. Now, however, he seemed at ease. "Maybe one day—after we exchange more favors— I'll tell you all about it."

Alenko smiled. "As long as it comes with free drinks."

Who knew if she would be able to meet up with that same Commander again? How his mission would fare without him, she wasn't sure. But she knew Garrus, Mordin, and Erash were on the task and none of them took failure very well. Even after Mordin's message about the Commander and his own request to meet up—Shepard still had a lot of things she needed to do. She declined the invitation as politely as she could, at least until her own mission was accomplished.

The best way to find out about people (and cross reference Intel) was by tapping her trusted info broker. Hestia Linn was always willing to meet her anytime, anywhere, no matter what mask she wore. Shepard took both Joker and the kids to her PH in _Gladia_ , a residential complex owned by one of her identities. She instructed Joker to stay with Garret until further notice before making her way to Eternity's back room. She also gave a very firm order to Julius and Oli not to leave the complex—whatever little scheme Oli had been planning died when she met Shepard's gaze.

At least the kid knew how to pick her battles.

"And Cerberus is willing to fight the Collectors—or at least, willing to rebuild a 4 billion-credits-worth errand boy to 'relieve humanity of its bane,' this is confirmed?" Shepard asked.

Hestia nodded. "Yes. However, his early introduction into the battlefield didn't give the Project Lazarus heads enough time to test whether he was mentally ready for the stress. So now, he's currently indisposed."

Hestia, also known in their circles as "The Madam" was a woman of some 40 years or more (because a lady never talked about her age and anyone with common sense shouldn't ask, so Hestia believed). Her long platinum hair was fish braided—tight and high—behind her head. She had a set of drooping eyes and a small mouth, the latter she wiped clean in between every bite of her dish of vegetables organically grown in greenhouses on the far-side of Illium. She wore only the latest fashion for any professional with a desk job—in dark blue and ivory.

"Confirmed as well?"

"Yes. My spy from within the ship has confirmed this with me."

"Within the Normandy? That's rather daring, Ma'am Hesty."

"Do not call me that _deplorable_ nickname." The way Hestia said the word deplorable was all too audibly accurate to its dictionary definition.

"Sara thinks it suits you."

"She thinks Sheppy suits you. And Eth-Eth. Who calls someone like Ethan Ward, Eth-Eth? No. No, you will not do this to me, Shepard."

Shepard lifted her glass of red wine. It was from Thessia, still fairly young for a red, about 10 years but the complex fruit in it was sublime. "Point, Madam Hestia." She smiled. "But planting a mole that close to your target?"

Hestia small mouth lifted into a crooked smile. "Some things are easier with age, dear. The information you told me about his appearance in Omega proves that he is taking extraordinary individuals for an extraordinary mission. My eyes in the Normandy, however, confirm that he is not ready for leadership or battle."

Shepard frowned. "What will become of the mission then?"

Hestia smiled, her lips thinning and her eyes gleaming. "Someone else has taken up leadership. After reviewing his background—he is more than fit for battle and leadership of a human vessel, in spite of his race."

"Madam, don't tell me—"

"The turian whose team you had me investigate, Archangel." Hestia leaned back against her chair. "However, you already knew that."

Shepard narrowed her wide eyes and removed the flush on her neck and face by calming her beating heart. They exchanged the same smile. "This is why I love you, Madam. You're always willing to be tested. Not the smallest hint of fear or lie."

"Hmph. It's because your personality is so twisted that you even bother with the tests." She took a bite from her salad and wiped her mouth. "There are several places he can go to—based on whom he plans to recruit this far away from Council Space. Dossiers get sent to him. I haven't ascertained who exactly is head hunting these individuals but it's The Illusive Man who approves them."

"Are there any possible extraordinary individuals residing in Nos Astra now?"

"Yourself, if you made yourself known."

"Flattery won't get you more credits."

Hestia cracked another smile. "As if I would agree to tell you anything solely based on the money you give me, dear." Finished with her plate, she set her cutlery to exactly 4 o'clock. "Other than yourself, there are rumors flying about a legend who walks among us, a drell."

"Oh? Krios or Faltern?"

"Krios."

Licking her lips, she looked at her half-finished drink. Shepard had heard whispers about Krios. His MO wasn't too far from her own when it came to assassinations. From the perspective of someone raised in the Beliefs of the League, the _Fohral_ —he was probably the few outside of the League whom they would call _Ageal_ , or true master.

Even in her years of working as a cloak, she'd never really encountered one before. Not since Lor. Sure, there were skilled assassins—some of whom she's had the pleasure of going toe-to-toe with or sometimes even teaming up with. But there was no one who was quite her level, and she'd been deemed worthy of the title since she was 16. She had the scars on her hands to prove it.

"Why do you think Krios is a candidate?"

Hestia folded the blue napkin on her lap neatly before placing it on the table between them. "Based on who has landed a spot on the ship, most are powerful, tough, or biotic. Not enough grace. If there is anyone who has that—it would be him."

"He isn't as young as some of the other professionals, though."

"Old age gives a lot of insight and more refinement." Hestia motioned at the space between them. "Not to mention, an all-too-soon expiry date is convenient for a contractual arrangement."

Shepard frowned. "Bounty? Sickness?"

"Kepral's Syndrome."

"Pity." Shepard leaned back against her chair. "Do you think he'd be too sick for a game of chess?"

"Well, if I were to pick how I would spend my last days then a game with you wouldn't be too horrible. I do love the wine you pick out for us." She took the last sip of her own glass before patting her lips dry again. Hestia didn't drink as much as she used to, but she still had a tongue for the finer things in life. "Another candidate is Samara, an asari Justicar."

Shepard whistled. "Cerberus doesn't pull any punches. What is she doing this far from real asari space?"

"She's looking for a criminal." Hestia nodded. "Not entirely sure who that is, however. Would you like me to look into it?"

Shepard shook her head. "No need. I'd prefer you continue the pursuit of finding cheap wares and some good Engineers who don't have big mouths."

"Very well. Is there anything else you would like to know, dear?"

"None, ma'am."

"Hm." She stood from the table, gave Shepard a kiss on the forehead. Shepard always had to mentally prepare herself for those. "Stay cheeky, my dear. Do invite me to another dinner before you decide to leave me again."

"Of course, Madam Hestia. Thank you, as always."

She watched her old friend leave before she called for the waiter to ask for the rest of that bottle. She wasn't sure how long it would take both her old squad mates to get to Nos Astra—but hopefully, none of the kids got them into any sort of trouble before then.


	54. Interlude VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said updates would be more sporadic, but let's all take this as a blessing and not jinx it.
> 
> Thank you, especially, those who have been reviewing in the recent chapters. You guys, have been encouraging and inspiring. The speedy update this time was especially inspired by those who have been cheering me to write on (you know who you are). It's been a long and bumpy ride to get here, but let's congratulate ourselves by saying: we are half-way through ME2. I hope you will stick with me, however far this leads us, until the very end.
> 
> Also, another send out to my wonderful beta, soundboard, life coach, and friend- thank you, thank you, thank you, Elantil. Without her you'd all be either reading mud or I'd have no updates to show for myself.
> 
> Onwards, friends.

**Interlude VII: Olivia Chronicles**

When Lor got started about their eldest sibling, he didn't really know when to stop. Olivia had always assumed they were exaggerations: how fast she could run, how sharp her eyes were, how small and fleeting her smile. Surely, there couldn't be a person who was just _made_ to be Legion, as _Abrul_ claimed with salarian pride. As the days passed, Shepard did deliver and Olivia was pleased that her older sister was interesting.

Interesting people were worthy enough to steal from. She'd take their treasures and their coded secrets. Therefore, Oli felt she needed to regard her older sister with the highest form of praise a thief could grant and that was to steal knowledge.

Oli got to work right away.

The first few hours of Shepard's day was spent in meditation. Olivia Dawn shouldn't have found that all that surprising, Lor spent most of his morning in prayer and meditation as well. He tried to get all three of them into it but both her older brothers fell asleep and Olivia herself slouched, elbows on her thighs as she glared daggers at Lor for trying to force them all into prayers that they couldn't fully comprehend. The fact that the prayers took long didn't help matters.

There were very few days where they skipped morning meditation. Even times when they were on the run, Lor had them pause for a few seconds of silence and thought— in those short few seconds, Olivia was sure that her teacher and father practically foretold their future.

As was expected, Shepard's discipline was just as unscrupulous. Though her older sister had confessed that there were a few years where her meditations were shrunk down to near nonexistence. Nonetheless, with her roots firmly planted on the teachings of the _Fohral_ , the Legion's code, she was sure to meditate at least once a day now.

"You know, the Legion is just a name, a third reincarnation. A change so that it won't meet the same destiny as the League did twice over. We still keep to the traditions of the second reincarnation, and it was a highly spiritual order." Shepard said with a shrug, sitting on the mat of the white meditation room— empty, save for Oli— who was lying on her stomach, looking bored even before the lesson could begin. "If none of you children can appreciate the rituals of our order then hope for a master after me is pretty much lost."

"But don't you find it boring?" Oli pouted. "Sitting around, thinking of nothing—"

"You can't think of nothing, Oli. Thinking requires _something_ , otherwise, it wouldn't be called thinking—"

"See? Even the first step has all these logical flaws!"

"You're supposed to empty your mind. Thinking of nothing and emptying your mind are two very different commands." Shepard chuckled. Oli liked the way her elder sister laughed, low and with just the right amount of amusement that it wasn't offensive. "But no one expects you to appreciate the metaphysical processes yet. You can start as everyone else has started."

"And that's where exactly?"

"Your body." She smiled when Oli's frown deepened. "You'd be surprised how much you learn about yourself in the silence. How many times your heart beats, how slow and even your breath could be. The body is the most primal, the first form of being and League wisdom teaches us it is also the most neglected. For example, take turian culture."

"What about the turians?"

"Turians are called to battle by the time they are 15— that's an early age for any culture. Well, other than the salarians."

"You were made into a master at that age though."

Shepard chuckle was airier this time, but she reached out to pat Oli's head. "Not everyone can become as good as me at that age."

Good was an understatement, but Oli thought it best not get into that argument. It reminded her of her missing, elder brother, Cain, and thoughts of him lately had made her want to scream her head off and bite people.

"But that's not the point," Shepard coughed. "For turians, it's spirit over mind. Mind over body. So regardless of full physical maturity, they are nurtured and prepared at a young age to be ready. There is truth to the statement, soldiers are pushed to do grueling tasks that take more courage and fortitude than expected. But our bodies are more than just vessels that house spirits—it has wants and needs, strengths and weaknesses. No matter the mental capacity, the body needs food and sleep—and grows and withers at its own pace."

Oli wrinkled her nose and snorted. "That isn't very different from any other form of self-denial or sacrifice. Anyone can learn that without meditation. The turians do it just fine, like you said." Oli could mentally recall all the times Julius gave up something for her sake— if there was any prime example of turian fortitude, it was him.

"Yes, for them it's cultural thing. Everyone has a place, a part in a whole. One can move high up, stay, or sink. However, cultivation of the self beyond the system is nil. A turian must measure himself to the standards of a Meritocracy. But what I'm saying is that—more than philosophy and way of life—the social aspects of turian politics is also the cultivation of thousands of years of evolution. This includes more than just the cultural changes but physical and physiological ones. By their assessment, a turian is ready to go through grueling training at 15— regardless of their individuality—because of the needs of the many.

"In other words, why don't they ever consider the wants and needs of the individual first before the many? Why ignore the parts for the whole?"

It was one of those trick questions Lor asked them all the time. It had her and her older brothers thinking in circles. Oli was reluctant to answer so instead she shrugged.

Her silence made Shepard chuckle. "You're entitled to your opinion, _Adi_ , little sister. I won't judge you. Neither would Lor." She folded her legs into a lotus position and took a deep breath. "The Legion and The League aren't very different from the Meritocracy. Only, we are masters of our body. And we do not deny ourselves the pleasure of rest or food—life or death— as soldiers do." She sighed. "Though I admit that I've been guilty of disobeying this portion of the _Fohral_ for a long time.

"That doesn't make us sound very practical."

"Oh? Can you call Lor an impractical person?"

Oli blinked up at her several times. True enough, even the hours of long meditation—despite being tedious— weren't exactly impractical or excessive. Lor had the time do everything he set out to accomplish in a day (which was a lot) and still had time for the rituals.

Shepard sighed. "To be honest, I'm not what I used to be when I was 18."

Oli tilted her head to the side. "I dunno, _Adel_. You're plenty deadly."

"To be Legion, to be a true master is not a matter of mere deadliness. When Lor stops to think, to meditate— didn't you ever wonder why he seemed to know exactly where the enemies were? How could you all have escaped such close calls?"

Oli's spine tingled. Recalling all the times they avoided danger, not once have they ever been put in harm's way when their father was in charge. Most things went south when he wasn't.

Shepard continued. "When I was about your age— I was a master of my body. My senses were honed and keen. Abrul must have explained that prediction and assessment is the very basis of our art form— and those rely on the primary, the senses."

Oli's eyes widened. "You mean I can develop something like that just by barely falling asleep a few hours a day?"

Shepard laughed outright. "No. That takes time: practice, experience. What meditation can do for you is connect what has been severed: body and mind. To the Legion, the mind and the body are equal in value, and they work in unison."

"You think I can do it?"

"Of course. At your own pace, Oli. No one expects you to sit still for 3 hours when you don't want to. Ease yourself into the discipline and your body will follow."

"You think you can get back to that?" Oli's eyes glowed. "Being more than just deadly?"

Shepard didn't need to answer, she only smiled as she rested her palms against her knees and closed her eyes with a deep breath.

* * *

Shepard spent most of the rest of the day training. With Ju watching over Garret and the assurance that their penthouse was secure, she focused on getting back into shape. She would do some running and cardio exercises, weight lifting—then practiced forms of various battle arts. It wasn't limited to the _Fidash_ , the dancing arts of the Legion. Since the week they first arrived in Illium, she'd gone through several fighting styles that were unfamiliar to Oli. When Moreau was feeling up to doing anything but bar hopping, he would take his turn with Garret and Ju would be Shepard's sparring partner (he'd come out grateful, heavily bruised, and dead on his feet).

Shepard also took the extra time, however, to do something as mundane as grocery shopping, even Ju's share. Not that Oli could complain, Joker had offered to cook since Shepard "didn't look like the cooking type." Her big sister just laughed and rolled her eyes, but Oli didn't miss the glimmer of triumph when Joker ended up burning everything he put on a pan.

It turned out, Shepard could barely do any better—unless she followed a recipe. Then, it would appear like she had the skills of a pro. This included recipes for even dextro food.

"The only recipe I know by heart is chocolate cake." She shrugged when asked. "Otherwise, listening to someone else's instructions is simple enough. I can't take pride in it though."

"But this _tastes_ amazing." Joker held up his fork of steak, it glimmered like a jewel against the yellow mood lights. "I take back everything I said about you not making a good wife—please, marry me!"

"Joker, what the hell makes you think you're husband material?"

"I dunno," The pilot rubbed his chin in contemplation. His grin afterwards could only be described as roguish. "You seem bent on using me all day and all night, captain."

Ju practically choked on his—liver thing that smelled a lot like liver but was too purple to be anything but _purple._ But Shepard only laughed and clinked wine glasses with the helmsman. "As long we both know I'm only using you for your body, helmsman." She looked the helmsman up and down. "I suppose you'll do."

A visible shiver went through the man and he held himself. "Yikes, Shepard. Is this what keeps the fellas and the asari coming? Creeper vibes?"

"I also attract a fair amount of human females. And elcor, I was told."

"God, the galaxy is a screwed up place if they think you're a viable option for intimacy."

"Oh, Moreau, using big words you don't know the meaning of, I see."

"Eugh, I'll have you know that sexual harassment can be reported by all genders and races!"

After trading banter with the helmsman, Shepard usually went back to training, then a shower. About 2 hours before bed she would tend to Garret and her mail. In this case, Shepard usually locked the door to her room and fired up her comm GUI. So only Garret was privy to anyone she talked to by the time the night cycle fell.

Until tonight.

* * *

A week and a day of careful and meticulous planning, Oli was at the right place and time to slip through the door, she stole through the yellow lights and weaved between the shadows to hide behind a large potted plant. Shepard was obviously a little distracted as she picked Garret up and hugged him tightly—he laughed in her embrace and called her "'pard, 'pard!" with his tiny hands clenching and unclenching. In response, she brought the child closer and he touched and pinched his way through her face.

Oli hadn't realized until now that Shepard never asked Garret to call her mom.

Furthermore, that Shepard only introduced him as "her Garret," like it was supposed to explain his presence in a war frigate the same way a battle system could. She had referred to the child as her family—but she never called him her son. Maybe, Shepard intended for him to take over the Legion once he was old and strong enough? No, that would be such a strange investment—at this age, kids are more a liability. Better to sell them off than spend the time and money to feed them, just like Maman did when Oli was three and worth 300 credits—a week's worth of vat-paste, a week's worth of life for her younger brother.

Olivia Dawn clutched at the hem of her new, red dress—tailored to her height and build, her stomach a little round from a delicious and noisy dinner. Her blonde hair fell about her face, no longer in tangles but cascading down like fine silk against her cheeks and neck and smelled of jasmine and honey.

"I don't think anyone could have predicted two years ago that you'd become the commander of a Cerberus vessel and have a team of specialists to thwart the Collectors by going on a one-way trip through the Omega-4 Relay."

While Oli wasn't watching, the audio comm had been fired up—the tech was set up more elaborately than she had initially suspected, and looked more suited to a war base than a fancy Ilium penthouse. When they had initially entered, it had only been a desk, apparently, there must have been a switch somewhere that tucked most of the gear away because now it took up the whole opposite wall and covered all the holo-windows.

"Well, you know how it is, Shepard." A low voice, layered with subtones—Oli put her credits on turian—said through the audio comm. She'd grown adept at reading them with how much time she spent with Ju, and the rumble there meant exhaustion but the lilt also meant playfulness. "Saving the galaxy just can't do without style."

"Humility."

"I have that in spades!"

Shepard sighed. "Are you getting enough rest? Are you eating well?"

He chuckled. "No need to hover over me like a mother _Waerin_ , Shepard. I need to keep my strength up in this ship. Jack threatens me daily that I'm more suited for the pirate life and that we should stage a coup. If I don't get the minimum amount of hours, I might actually listen to her."

"Oh? She really knows how to press those Cerberus buttons. We sound like best friends already."

"Your advice on her is really paying off—I think she actually likes me." He cleared his throat. "Trusting me is a different matter altogether, of course."

Shepard adjusted Garret on her lap, wrapping her arms around him tightly and taking a whiff of his blond head. Oli huffed. Why did that damned baby have to smell so nice? Now she wanted to go there and do the same. "Speaking of _Waerin_ , Garrus, Julius loved what I made him. I don't think he would have eaten it that fast if he didn't anyway."

"No need to play it down, Shepard. You're an intercultural marvel like Na—"

That's when Shepard's small smile became a frown. Silence and heavy breathing could be heard from the other line.

"Ga—"

"I'm fine, Shepard. I'm fine."

"I wasn't going to—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Shepard."

Shepard's shoulders tensed before she released a long, audible breath.

Obviously, the turian wasn't fine. Shepard didn't say anything more. Standing from her seat in front of the audio holo, she put Garret into his crib—he seemed to struggle at first, reaching out to be held more but Shepard stood her ground. In the few quiet minutes that passed, Garret grew tired of reaching. She sat at the edge of the bed, hand on his thigh as patted him to the rhythm of her soft lullaby. It was in the old tongue, a chronicle of one of the first _Adinas_ , mothers, who was an asari. Oli was still in the process of learning the lyrics to that one and she had been struggling with the breathing (she really preferred the _Fidash_ , the dancing arts).

Olivia nearly fell asleep herself until Shepard cleared her throat.

"Are you done being an interrupting ass?"

"Uh. Yes?"

Shepard's voice was cold. "I wasn't going to push you if you didn't want to talk about it."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"I also don't want to be second guessed by someone who's as pushy as you are, Garrus." She inhaled sharply. "Or lied to by a complete amateur. It's insulting."

Instead of yelling back, like Oli thought he would, he chuckled instead. "I'll work on it then."

"And I don't want to get into any arguments with you when I'm not in range to scratch your face off." It was a loaded sentence, if Oli ever heard one.

"Hah. Like I'd let you." There was a gravelly quality to his subtones now—longing.

"I don't know, Garrus. I've been getting back in shape. Feeling even close enough to what I used to be before I joined the Alliance. I'd give myself two more weeks. Less. Julius has been an excellent sparring partner."

"Really? I thought those were your glory days?"

"Hah. The next time we see each other—you'll hardly recognize me."

They traded more things of little consequence afterwards, right when Oli was really starting to feel the sleep pull her into oblivion. She could hardly understand the intricacies of what was said—or, whatever wasn't being said. Though this Garrus seemed able to keep his wits about him compared to anyone else who verbally sparred with Shepard (shop clerks and Illium info brokers—you'd think they knew a lot more about a persuasive dialogue).

The next morning, Oli found herself on Shepard's bed, covered in a white fluffy blanket. When she turned to the crib, Ju was shaking his head at her and already starting a long talk about respecting privacy and breaking and entering. Just then, Joker walked into the room to call them for brunch—the aroma of waffles, maple, and bacon following him inside.

There was a dark, dark time when she never even knew the luxury of being yelled at by family.

Oli slid her feet off the bed, looking down at her silk blue pajamas (Shepard must have changed her clothes). She ran her hand over the neat braids of hair (again, Shepard) and smiled as she followed Ju, with Garret in his arms, outside the Shepard's room to eat her late breakfast.


	55. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when will these two be reunited?

**Chapter 47**

Madam Hestia had feeds from the docks, so Shepard knew immediately if anyone from her team had arrived. In spite of the facts that Ward being the captain of his state-of-art war frigate and Sara being the wife of a prominent politician in asari government, it was Ari Klein who arrived first aboard a civilian vessel.

Ari Klein, also known as Ariel of the Dominion, was the youngest member of their detachment having only turned 24 this year. In N-school, she was known for her brilliance in biotics coupled with her apathetic demeanor. The same demeanor got her into heaps of trouble with officers and peers, alike. Her reputation preceded her to the point that even after graduating N-school at 18 (she started early and was accelerated by several years), and having the official designation of an N7, no one was willing to recruit her or work with her.

Of course, Shepard saw it as a golden opportunity to invite one of the most brilliant Adepts humanity had to offer. They probably won't see another human like her until the next asari lifetime.

"Hey, Ari." She lifted a hand up in greeting. "You arrived before the two."

Ari stared at her, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Her light brown eyes were practically gold as they widened and searched Shepard's face. It probably wasn't the best idea to appear out of the corner so suddenly. If Ari had been Ariel of the Dominion, Shepard would probably be a blood splattering on the wall now.

Ari reached for the long, black braided hair behind her back before twiddling the ends of it between her glove fingers. Even behind her fringe and the dark blue of her light armor, Shepard could tell she was blushing red from head to toe. "Sh-Shepard. It's been—it's been—"

"Sorry, it's been a while, hasn't it?" Shepard chuckled. "I suppose it was a little underhanded for me to contact you out of the blue. You look well."

Ari dropped the duffel bag before she embraced her, hands around Shepard's waist. Shepard felt her whole body shiver at the contact but then Ari started sobbing, and then full on crying and she lost the heart to push their youngest Dominion member away. Resting a hand at the back of the younger woman's head, she brought her a little closer and sighed when the crying got worse.

There was a lot of crying and hugging lately. Shepard wasn't sure how to remedy all the sudden want for her comfort.

"Come now, Ari." Shepard spoke softly. "This isn't the place to show your tears."

Ari coughed, pushing back but not leaving the embrace, she laughed up at the smile Shepard showed her. "Your face looks funny, boss."

"You think my smile looks funny?"

"Smile? You look like you don't know what to do with yourself." Ari picked up her things and looked around. "I guess someone who isn't used to being in the limelight would be uneasy when so many people are looking at us."

"Good that you know." Shepard huffed but lifted both her hands to rub away Ari's tear tracks with her thumbs. Turning, she motioned for Ari to follow. "Come on, the two know where the penthouse is so we're not going to wait for them. Are you hungry?"

Ari stepped up beside her. "Very!"

"Groceries, then." Shepard mused out loud, speeding up a little. Ari kept pace beside her easily and she smiled at that. "We're cooking a feast tonight."

* * *

"Again, Welcome to Nos Astra, Garrus Vakarian."

The asari maiden excused herself with a small bow before leaving, her entourage of mechs following by her sides. Lawson lifted her shoulders in a small shrug and Zion scratched the back of his head.

"I have to say, it's a lit-tle strange when someone I don't know knows where I am." By the way Zion said little, it didn't sound small at all. "Should we be worried?"

"T'soni is an old friend." Garrus said as explanation. Taking point, his two other companions followed in rhythm. From the stares, it was probably an odd sight for two humans to be trailing after a turian—at least, not as common as it would be on the Citadel where you would encounter turian officers. Or maybe it was the fact that they were armed to the teeth in a supposedly peaceful asari hub for commerce.

"Uh huh. A friend who's watching your every move? That's a little sketchy, boss."

"I'm sure everything will clear up when we visit her."

They walked passed the kiosks and the merchants, climbing up a long set of stairs to be greeted by another asari—whose smile was more shark-like as she motioned for them to enter T'soni's office. But what was more surprising was hearing T'soni threaten someone, and then coolly cut off the comm line to face them.

"Garrus," She said in sotto voce as she walked up closer to embrace him. He managed to wrap his arm around her shoulders, more confused than happy that at least there was something familiar in her smile. "It's so good to see you." Her voice reverberated through his armor. Pulling away, her hands moved to his arms and she looked up at him, eyes only barely taking in his visor, the bandage on his face, the large chunk missing in his cracked armor, and then finally, his eyes. "You've seen better days, I hope."

"Of course, T'soni." He nodded professionally. Making that final pull so her hands dropped to her sides, he looked around her office as pretense. "You're doing well for yourself, considering you've never replied to my messages."

She looked a little sheepish. If she had been human—as human and as shy as Mei-mei—she would have tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm using a different omni-tool now, different address—here, let me link you up. You can reach me any time."

She walked back behind her desk and motioned for him and his guests to sit down. Keying her address on the comm, the ping signaled her sent message and she took a seat as well—lacing her fingers together. "So, Garrus, is there anything I can do for you?"

"You don't seem surprised."

"About?"

"The fact that I'm here—and the Commander isn't it."

T'soni's already hardened expressions froze to steel at the mention of it. Her gaze shifted to Miranda, who looked back, undaunted. "I've been keeping tabs on him—even before he woke up."

"So, you knew he isn't dead."

"Yes."

"How?"

"Long story—we should save it for another time." The way she didn't narrow her eyes but looked straight at him was more unnerving than he liked to admit. It was awfully similar to the way Shepard had studied his face to see the way he ticked. What sort of weaknesses was he revealing with every second? C-Sec had similar lessons to impart to him when he was still part of the force but he wouldn't delude himself into thinking that the dissection of a cop was the same operation as the one he was enduring right now, what more Shepard's own assessment of his character and flaws.

"Have you been informed of Alenko's situation?"

Her face barely twitched but the sorrow was in her whispery voice. "I have."

"Do you have any medical professionals you can recommend that we can take along with us? We have a licensed psychologist but her—background— doesn't sit well with the Commander."

For all of Miranda's poise, he could hear her fidget against the leather exterior of the leather couch she sat on. Zion was doing much better at hiding what he felt about open distrust towards Cerberus.

T'soni nodded. "I had one in mind, a mind healer, however." Both Zion and Miranda winced when she flashed them an apologetic smile. "I know biotics have been under fire amongst humanity for fear of mind control and mind reading. But very few of the asari have such a gift, and most of them are very old. Celia F'rhea is from an order of _Dwrea_ , the priestesses normally never leave the Gaiam Mountain but she is currently on her Wandering."

"Wandering?"

T'soni nodded. "Every four years, a devotee would spend one year outside Gaiam to serve those who cannot make the pilgrimage to the top. Celia F'rhea is an acquaintance of a friend, if I drop her name— I think she would be willing to take on the job."

"Not to be the bushel of hair stuck in your drainage pipe but— wouldn't any other psychologist do? Not that the Commander's health isn't priority but this seems like a really expensive hand to play if we gotta do some name dropping."

"I think a priestess of _Dwrea_ would see how important our mission is and agree." Miranda interjected. "They aren't bound by a strict Code like a Justicar, so long as she is fulfilling the duties of her Wandering—I think she'll see how important it is. Her knowledge about the mind will be speed up the process of his healing faster than any normal medical expert."

"Ms. Lawson is correct. Human minds may be structurally different from asari but a _Dwreana_ is equipped to heal any sort of mind for no matter how long it takes. She'll be dedicated to his healing, for little to nothing." T'soni nodded and then her grin became apologetic. "The name dropping is mostly because she might have some—doubts, about entering a Cerberus vessel."

"I think we need all the help we can get." Garrus nodded. "Send the message."

She fired up her comm again, barely looking away when she nodded. "Done." She looked him square in the eye again. "Is there anything else you needed from me?"

Garrus asked immediately about the people in the dossiers. The Justicar was raising a fuss in Nos Astra, but it seemed they could delay a visit to her. The Assassin, on the other hand, looked like he was up to some serious business and it sounded like something they should deal with as soon as possible.

Garrus asked a little bit more about the two—and T'soni was honest and forthcoming with the information. He started to stand and she rose with him. "Thanks, T'soni. If you need me for anything—"

"Don't think about it." She shook her head. "Come by any time."

As his companions were making their way out, Garrus lowered his voice. "I mean it, Liara. If you need me for anything—for, whatever you're going through. You let me know. Tit-for-tat."

She looked taken aback—was she surprised he figured her out? Or was she surprised that he offered to help at all? The smile she flashed him—younger, simpler, more teeth—was worth it though. "You've been learning human idioms."

He chuckled. "I try."

She nodded. "If there's anything I need—I will tell you. And," She looked down at her laced hands. "I'll tell you right away when the _Dwreana_ contacts me."

"Good." Garrus nodded. He began making his way out of her office. Giving her a wave without turning back he added one last request: "Stay out of trouble, T'soni."

She laughed. "I can't make any promises you can't, Vakarian."


	56. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Currently employed so I'll have some pretty slow updates. Though I wanted another chapter out for April just for you guys, I'm just afraid it's a short one. Enjoy!

It was surreal for Shepard, to be with so many from her old team—having a dinner made by her own hands. She served a succulent pot roast with gravy, mashed potatoes, a side salad with a creamy dressing, and a bottle of 2146 Shiraz. Earlier, she had sent the kids and Moreau off shopping and a black credit chit with the instructions "Buy anything, check in to the best hotel. Just don't come back till morning."

Hopefully, that would keep them away long enough as to not interrupt this meeting with everything strained as it was.

Shepard would not pretend that her whole team got along. Team cohesion was based on understanding, practice, and respect—not love. When Shepard was Commander, and then later on Major—she had drilled into her team the importance of unity of goal and rigorous discipline, the Legion/League's way of doing things. Outside of missions, of course, was another thing. Shepard was privy to most of her team's disputes with each other and their rivalries and until it interfered with team morale or mission parameters, she didn't butt in.

After what was a delicious dinner (because Shepard would never let anyone spoil a meal with wine), which was a silent war of eyes and clattering cutlery, Shepard ushered them all to the living space—three long, black leather divans separated by a dark cherry wood coffee table. Ethan and his extra guest (his second-in-command who was introduced as Jacob Taylor) took the couch closest to the main door, with Taylor standing between the space of Shepard's couch and Ethan's. Sara plopped herself beside him with an audible creak of leather as she wiggled into her seat. While Ari, striding elegantly to the opposite couch, slid closer to Shepard. Shepard silently sat at the head divan, a seat smaller than the two opposing sets, calmly pouring more wine into the glasses at the table while her old team rekindled bad blood.

Ah. Just like old times.

Ari Klein looked down from her nose, looking like a young aristocrat rather than a military brat. She took a little sip of wine and leaned back against the couch. "Tell me again why these people are here, ma'am? I fail to grasp why we need these two—or three if we count this total stranger." She motioned at the young lieutenant, standing at attention beside Ward. He was very good at pretending he couldn't hear what she was saying.

Sara, dressed in what could be the most glorious or gaudiest of purple silks, pushed the braid of her blond hair behind her. "Obviously, because she needs more adults than children on this mission—and definitely, the expertise in a craft rather than petty parlor tricks from a madwoman. Wouldn't you agree, Eth-Eth?"

The skin under Taylor's right eye twitched. Though "Eth-Eth," dressed in Alliance blues and a very strained smile, crossed his legs and leaned back against his side of the couch. "This isn't the time to be childish, ladies." Then he added, less gentlemanly, "Or to use really disgusting nicknames."

Ari snorted. "As if your soft cushy life in Thessia still makes you any sort of craftsman. I bet you barely smell grease while you're shopping for your vomit green furs and yellow eye liner."

Sara gasped, covering her widened mouth with both her hands. "How dare you! Orange eyeliner is in fashion now—yellow would get me kicked off the asari socialites' A-list!" She followed it with a glare. "And you're one to talk about professions. Isn't it sad how the most promising human biotic in our lifetime be reduced to furniture retail? Like anyone would buy a shelf you touch!"

"At least I keep in shape, you old pudgy purple pipsqueak!"

"You're so mean! Eth-Eth, tell her she's so mean."

"You're so mean."

"You have to _mean_ it, Eth-Eth! Say it again, _again_!"

Shepard swirled the contents of the Shiraz in her glass, barely looking away from the argument. She could feel Taylor's side glance at her and a touch of a smile lifted her lips. "I apologize that you had to be subjected to this, Taylor."

The Lieutenant snapped to attention, eyes looking forward and away from her. Shepard didn't think anyone could look as snappish and as attentive as the man was right now. "It's an honor to be here, ma'am."

She flicked her glass and the contents swirled, once. "Don't kiss ass, Taylor. You're not going to get anything good out of it, least of all from me."

Rather than being embarrassed, he let out a breathy laugh. "The Captain said your words could sting like a whiplash. And you could snap my neck ten times as fast." He quickly looked down at her, then away again. Shepard watched his back and shoulder practically quiver. "He didn't say anything about—well, anything else about you."

"Really?" She took a sip. "He talked a great deal about you. Your dad was Alliance, stationed on the Gernsberg as an officer. And you're pretty decorated yourself. Former Corsair?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Hm, they dealt more with the batarian and pirate side of things. Did the Captain talk about his good old days?"

"Briefly. His time in Dominion—Dominion itself, it's mostly classified. He talked about some of it, when he could." He locked his arms together behind his back. "I only know some of the more sensitive stuff because of my time in Corsair."

"Sensitive?"

"You were part of a group in charge of dealing with the SS-Class enemies and above—the bogeymen they never talk about in the extranet. And," He cleared his throat. "Alliance soldiers who were considered deserters or traitors. Given highest level clearance. Unlimited resources. Hand-picked as the finest. You were the Alliance Spectre-prototypes."

"Hm, they painted a pretty picture of my team in Corsair, did they?"

"All the detachments knew about you, ma'am." He looked at her, fully now. Even when she looked at him, he didn't turn away. "I'm sure many of them hoped to make it to your team."

"Yourself?"

"Every soldier worth their salt aspires to reach the top, ma'am."

She sighed. "To be honest, the Dominion started out as nothing more than a bunch of misfits—as you can see." She motioned at her three squabbling teammates. "Talented people, with all the potential for leadership and greatness, who didn't know what to do with themselves. A bunch of people no one really wanted—" She snorted. "From being a cast of nobodies and losers to becoming the First Seven of the Dominion, I have to say, that story never gets old when I hear it from a guy born, bred, and bled in Alliance blue."

Taylor's mouth snapped shut when she finished the last sip of dry, red wine. She planted the glass down on the table, cushioned by her fingers with a soft thud at the precise time there was a lull in the argument between how Ari would be a virgin forever, how fat Sara was now, and how Eth-Eth never cared about anyone but himself.

"I suppose you've all aired out your dirty laundry?" She nodded at their wide eyed expression. "I'm surprised any of you stopped on my account."

"I don't think the pudgy-purple-pig can fit in her old armor, ma'am." Ari said quickly. "It'd be a pain in the ass to save her because she'd move like a slug with those hips and thighs."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I don't think this biotic madwoman has the EQ to be deployed anywhere, Sheppy." Sara pointed an accusing finger at the young biotic, who folded her arms and muttered to herself darkly. "She's obviously learned nothing from all the things she destroyed in our Black Ops days and doesn't have a lick of gratitude for all the times I've had to smooth things over with the bureaucrats."

"I'm just wondering how you've convinced me to sit here." Ethan said, face in his hands. "I've always just let Zadkiel calm them down or had Muriel smooth talk them."

Shepard smiled, leaning back against her sofa. "I'm just happy all of you are alive and in one piece." She would have heard a pin drop at that moment if she had one to test it out. "And that after all this time, you all have the decency to squabble _after_ I've eaten my dinner with wine."

Ari looked like she had her soul sucked out of her. "It was the golden rule after that fight—"

Sara whimpered. "How could anyone forget that horrible day?"

Ward laughed, shaking his head. "The whole team suffered for that. For weeks."

"You look lost, Taylor. Allow me to share with you one of the Dominion tales they don't tell you in the Alliance." Shepard smiled, a little devilishly even for her. Her whole team shivered visibly. "You see, I picked up a taste for wine just at the beginning of my Alliance career. I had the accounts to manage a substantial collection, and to learn extensively under the tutelage of experts and credited oenophiles in between jobs and Alliance crap. I dedicated myself to it with gusto—studying from the wine culture of Thessia to the beer breweries in Khar'shan." She poured herself another glass of Shiraz and leaned back. "I have an old wine buddy with exquisite taste and deep pockets—whom I knew since I was child—a bottle of Domaine Romane Conti of the year 2106, a Burgundy, _the_ Burgundy. The very last of its kind as the Dom. Romane Conti has stopped producing wine due to restorative efforts after an Eezo explosion. It was one of the last 27 bottles that exists today, and had just peaked at the time I was supposed to enjoy it. A bottle probably costs about the price of an entire wing of a dreadnought, armed and fully staffed— just at standard bidding price at an auction. Sadly," She looked away on purpose—focusing her gaze at the fireplace where a hearth was lit. "I wasn't able to enjoy a sip of that vintage that day due to—circumstances with my subordinates. I'll probably never be able to. Of course, I understood accidents happen—"

Sara whimpered. Ari had her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her eyes were red and puffy.

"And that's why no one fights at the dinner table when wine is present." Shepard added with a bounce, a chirp, and a sip.

Taylor looked more confused than ever. "Wait, what exactly—"

"LT," Ward practically growled. "You do not want to continue that thought."

Taylor blinked. "Yes, sir."

"Now that we put our reminiscing behind us," Shepard locked eyes with everyone from her team. "I'd like us all to focus on why I called you all here. Sara knows some of the details as I employed her a little earlier than all of you present—but I've asked you all here because I need people I can trust. People with talent and skill in equal measure." She put her empty wine glass down. "So, are you all ready to listen? Or do you still need to let out more steam?"

They all snapped up, rigid and ready. "No, ma'am."

"Good." She planted both her feet on the ground. "Taylor, take a seat beside Ari. I'll start at the beginning."


	57. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

Garrus wondered what Samara might do to him if he told her everything he had done on Omega.

And, how funny would it be if he told her everything Krios beside him did in his colorful career as an assassin.

With the three of them traipsing around Ilium—a vigilante, a justicar, and an assassin—it was really a wonder how this wasn't the start of some really bad joke about walking into a bar or climbing into the same ship. The latter of which was something they would actually do in a few hours.

Spirits.

In the end, it was his fault as the party composition was up to him—Alliance Spec Ops, specifically N7 regs, would normally stick to a small group of three—infiltration size. Composition was usually well-balanced in case the unit was forced to switch from being sneaky to active combat. Turian legions were different—you could bring as few as the commander saw fit but a legion stuck to one kind of specialty. Thus, legions would work together: you'd have a demolition and engineer unit sandwiched between the rearguard and the vanguard. Then, up ahead, the scouts. The patrol divisions kept the perimeter clear. In abnormal cases, you'd have only one or two people per legion—if at all.

So, in other words, maybe he should have brought Jack or something. Or he shouldn't have sent Zaeed back after Samara had made the Third Oath of Subsumation. They were on their way back, he reasoned, until Liara had said the _dwraena,_ the mind healer priestess, had contacted her—and had given her coordinates and a time.

"A _Dwrae_ priestess barely waits for anything but death." Samara had supplied when he had told his team about the message—and the possibility of putting it off until they've all settled down. "While the code obligates a Justicar to seek injustice and cleanse it, the priestesses' law forbids them to leave their home unless they are Wandering. Their time in any space outside of Gaiam Mountain is precious and short."

"Why do they only cater to pilgrims?" Garrus asked. Samara blinked at him, she managed to make her passive expression almost elegant. "Couldn't they do more healing outside of the mountain? Wouldn't that fulfill their obligations to cure faster?"

"The teachings of the _Dwrae_ believe that the world below Gaiam is imbalanced. Too much exposure to it—even a priestess could lose focus and be unable to cure. If a priestess' mind is unhealthy, then how can she be expected to cure others?" Samara's smile was slow but real. "The priestesses are barely talked about—almost like a secret—but they are welcomed in asari space. Justicars often do the pilgrimage to the mountain to seek aid for both the mind and the body. Whatever the reason, having her in the Normandy, even if only for a few days, will be a blessing for everyone aboard."

"Then, I guess we shouldn't delay." He nodded at Zaeed and Krios. "Samara, you can meet us in the Normandy in a couple of hours."

"I would like to accompany you to fetch her, if I may, Vakarian." She fixed her calm gaze on him.

"Oh. Uh." Garrus cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. If it's not too much trouble."

Zaeed huffed. "I'd rather not stick out like sore thumb with all of you so I'll head back. Probably stop by the gun shop, Vakarian." His gaze lingered on the Justicar's face before he smirked and turned away. "Try not to stand out too much. The pickpockets in Ilium have a good eye for weaponry."

Spirits. What Garrus wouldn't give to just visit the gun shop at his own leisure.

Enduring the long minutes of walking in silence, Liara's coordinates led them to an establishment called _Dark Star_. He blinked up at the sign, noted the very loud bass that could be heard from where he stood. He turned around to look at Krios and then at Samara. "This is a club, isn't it?"

Krios blinked twice, hands held behind his back as he straightened. "An unusual place for a mind healer—let alone a priestess— to be."

Shaking the confusion away, the three of them made their way inside. His visor did wonders against the strobe and alternating blue and purple lights in time with a popular beat but he was completely powerless against the smell of sweat and the tinge of smoke and alcohol. Before he could even inquire, the bartender pointed a talon at a far door.

Completely perplexed, he followed the turian's directions and headed inside a room. The room was lit with blue lights with a mirror that covered the upper half of all four walls. Within, the music was less audible. At the opposite end of the door was a table with just enough seats for all of them, the couch along the far wall was occupied by an asari—her face covered in red stripes, a large one across her nose and two vertical smaller ones below her lower lip. Her skin was a paler aqua than most asari he'd seen and her eyes were large and brightly violet. She dressed simply in a white gown, a gold pin against her shoulder seemed to be the only thing that was of any value.

"Hello." She bowed her head, slowly, like a _gazan_ bowing its head to meet the grass.

" _Dwraena_ ," Samara returned the bow but with a hand to her chest and her eyes closed. "It is a relief to see that you have been unharmed by your travels."

"A Justicar? Color me surprised to see one in this part of asari space."

Samara's smile was slow, but when it got there it was wide. "My name is Samara, _dwraena_."

She smiled sweetly. "I am called Celia F'rhea, but you may call me Cely. I've been told of your circumstances by a mutual party but most of the details were vague, or worse, fabricated. I wish to judge for myself if boarding a vessel full of Cerberus agents was indeed wise but," her eyes went through all of them. "I see that my fears were misguided."

"I'm Garrus Vakarian." Garrus said. "This is another associate, Thane Krios." He motioned at Krios who did a slow sort of bow of his own. "And they're not all bad, ma'am. Most of the crew care little of where we came from."

"Cely." She smiled. "I may be hitting my matron years but I'd never consider myself a 'ma'am' just yet."

"Right, ma—" Garrus coughed as she looked pointedly at him to continue. "Cely."

She nodded, less teeth in her smile and less sharpness in her gaze. "I have another concern." Cely motioned for them to take their seats then. She waited patiently for all of them to do so, save Krios who said he felt more comfortable standing near the entrance. "It's about my intended patient."

"You mean Commander Alenko."

She nodded, leaning forward with her chin tucked closer to her chest. She had to look up at him in order to see his face. "Was he really—did he really die and get, well, revived?"

"The technical term is reconstructed." Garrus said in the flattest tone he can manage. "If you can count the faintest heartbeat and connect it to muscles and meat—then, technically, he never really died."

"But, as far as anyone knows, his brain was kept mostly undamaged after the attack?"

"Yes," Garrus blinked, remembering the files on the Lazarus project he was allowed access to as well as the ones Erash pilfered from the data stashes hidden in the ethers of the Cerberus database. He had been worried about the Commander's integrity as well (can never be too cautious about Cerberus)—but those worries were cast aside when Alenko took him on his first groundside mission.

"I see you understand what I mean, Garrus. But also not completely," she leaned back against the couch. "But I will see for myself if I am wrong—and I pray very, very dearly that I am."

* * *

Garrus stayed in the mess hall, close enough to the elevator and the clinic to be alerted if anything happened to Alenko while priestess Cely was doing the diagnostics. She requested to be alone with the Commander and though Lawson glared behind her dark eyelashes, Garrus permitted Cely to go up there alone.

An hour became two. And on the third, Garrus was nursing his fifth glass of Gris, turian beer—nearly hitting the point of intoxication that if he wasn't a worried wreck, he probably would be drunk dancing to an imaginary beat.

He hadn't heard the doors of Life Support slide open and close. In the next three blinks, Krios was standing in front of him with his hands behind his back. Studying Garrus as all of Krios' kind seemed to enjoy doing, he blinked his reptilian-eyes at him once. Then, twice.

"I apologize for disturbing you," Krios did his half-bow thing before he turned on his heel to retreat back into Life Support.

"Wait, wait. Krios. You weren't disturbing anything. Here, sit down." Garrus called after him and the assassin looked back. He walked over, slower and more cautious and no less quiet. Even the way he planted himself on the chair carried a grace Garrus had seen over and over when Legacy still worked with Archangel and things were going right for once.

Damn, that was a long time ago.

"Is there a problem you wanted to discuss?" Garrus ran his talons upwards, scratching his crest. "I had EDI bring down the humidity levels in the ship, overall. Even further in Life Support but if you're still not comfortable—"

"You've done plenty, Vakarian." Krios held up his hand for him to stop and not fuss. But there was nothing amused in his gaze, the same way it might be in Shepard's if he were to fuss over her. Surprisingly, she was a little more emotionally readable in comparison. "I wanted to explore the ship a little—but then EDI informed me that most spaces on the Normandy are occupied by operatives for the ground mission. I'd rather not intrude. The Mess Hall was a good place to start but then you're here and wouldn't me being here count as intruding?"

"It might seem that way." Garrus chuckled. "But this place is only empty because half the crew is on shore leave. Most hours, you'll have crew chatting up a storm in here. And the Mess Sergeant who takes his job too seriously." He relied on the cold from his glass as he held it to put him at ease. "If you still have some business in Nos Astra, we'll likely stay ashore for at least two more days— probably won't get another chance to unwind for this long now that we have all the operatives from the dossiers on board."

"The Illusive Man did let me know that this might be a one way trip." Krios nodded, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. "That's generous of you, Vakarian."

"I try."

"Do you think the Commander will be well when we hit the relay?"

Vakarian shook his head. "It's hard to say. I don't want to rush the entire mission but with the threat of the Reapers looming and the Collectors—I don't think he'll get the luxury of a full heal if he wants to join."

"I heard as much from my networks. After I finished my last job." Krios blinked. His subtones were different from a turian's but they were still there. Low and sorrowful. "The Council appears to think otherwise."

"I guess it's scary to think that giant sentient machines are trying to destroy the universe. Something right out of a nightmare."

"Nightmares can be more real than reality."

Garrus wasn't sure what Krios was talking about then. Though, he didn't seem to be aware of Garrus's confusion as Krios's eyes seem to dart back and forth and he whispered under his breath. Garrus wasn't offended that the drell didn't wish to discuss such personal matters as his keen memory recalled it right before his eyes, as if it was occurring right this moment.

Garrus had his own reality to recall—sleeping or awake. He didn't feel like he had a place to pry. As he drank, he tipped the glass until he had swallowed every drop of his Gris.

"Sorry," Krios said after a time. "I recalled some—unpleasant things."

Garrus nodded back. "Yeah."

Krios cleared his throat. "But now that you mentioned having business in Ilium, I do recall receiving an interesting message. Perhaps, I'll accept their invitation."

Garrus blinked. "What is it? Like a blind date or something?"

Krios leaned back against his seat. "Something like that. Though, it could also be another assassin contracted to kill me. Or someone who wants to be friends."

Garrus laughed at first, expecting it to be banter. Krios' lips were lifted in a smile but his eyes were more sharp, focused—rather than amused. "Hang on, you're not serious about it being a possible assassin."

"It's highly likely," he nodded back. "Isn't that right, Ms. Goto?"

The thief materialized on the chair next to Garrus and it took all of the turian's calm not to jump out of his seat. Kasumi did the same damn thing a few hours ago when Samara and Krios first entered—actually, just like then Krios knew she was following them around the CIC and called her out—but Spirits, Garrus was never going to get used to that.

"What network are we talking about, Thane?" She giggled almost girlishly as she said his name.

The drell looked unfazed. "Iris."

Even the shadow of her hood couldn't hide her impish smile. "That better be an assassin, then." She pressed her knuckles to her lips in thought. "Or one really slippery hanar that wanted some info on your whereabouts, pun intended."

"The hanar haven't bothered me since my retirement. And they've respected my privacy." Krios leaned forward. "And not a lot of them know how to play chess."

"All right, turian, former C-Sec, a little lost here." Garrus interjected, raising a hand. "Let's start at the beginning."

"Sorry, I forgot vigilantes aren't exactly criminals." Kasumi gave him a light poke in the arm to get him to drop his hand. "Rule breakers, yes. But not exactly hardcore."

"Did you just call me _not_ hardcore, Goto?"

"Hey," she shrugged. "At least you're not shitting rainbows and saving newborns." Kasumi let him chuckle at that and Krios cracked a smile before she continued. "Anyway, Iris is basically one of the networks the sneaky-killy people use to get in contact with each other. It's basically a giant forum, accessible to anyone, but undecipherable to people outside the biz." Kasumi sighed. "And by biz I mean people like Thane. Even I get a little confused looking through it—it's full of nerdy code about death and blah and sometimes all it wants to say is 'I had an ice cream this afternoon. It was yummy. Yum.'"

"That sounds kind of pointless. And dangerous."

"Well, you know what hitmen are like." Kasumi shrugged when Krios turned an amused gaze at her. "More than anything it's also a way to know whether someone is still active. You can plan meet-ups for teaming up or duels to the death. Or just—well, it is a solitary line of work. Sometimes you just wanna know you're not alone."

Garrus nodded. "I see."

"Although, more often than not it's just one of the means for a psychopath who's out for the thrill of the hunt to look for skilled prey. Though, not everyone in the biz actually joins Iris." She giggled and that made Garrus shake his head. "Also, it's not easy to get anyone's username, especially a household one like Thane's. Most messages are general or to the public." She turned to the drell. "Was it a private message?"

The drell nodded. "Also seems to be aware I'm in Nos Astra for a few days."

"Oooh, this one's high caliber." Kasumi leaned forward. "Any other giveaways?"

"Likely human. Or neutral towards them—asari, salarian, maybe drell. Not a lot of other species like chess." Krios seemed to be recalling the email. "Untraceable origins so—"

"Access to powerful hubs might either mean well-connected or wealthy—or both. Which means—"

"They can't be very young. Someone who's been in the career for a long time." Garrus supplied and they both turned towards him. "I also used to be an Investigator in C-Sec, you know. Not the department idiot."

"Well, you make it easy to forget." Kasumi grinned at Garrus's glare. "Anyway, we can at least assume that this isn't new meat. That lowers the chances of it being someone who wants to kill you. But just a little." Kasumi looked up, finger on her chin in thought. "Ah," she pointed up. "It isn't Faltern, is it?"

"No," Krios shook his head. "He's the type who doesn't like to interact with us. He thinks people are troublesome. Even the ones who think like him." Krios glanced at Garrus first, then at Kasumi. "Something tells me I'll be fine though."

"You're just going to go there blind?"

"I can take care of whoever plans to meet me there." Krios nodded and Kasumi shrugged. "By your leave, Vakarian."

Garrus nodded. "I know we didn't meet too long ago but I'm not going to question that you can't take care of yourself. Report often though and comm the moment there's trouble."

"I'll begin my preparations." Krios nodded to both of them. "Thank you both."

When Krios was out of sight and out of earshot, Kasumi giggled behind her hand. Garrus faced her, moving his chair backwards, a little farther away from her. "And what are you giggling about, Goto?"

"Nothing, Vakarian." She leaned on the table, chin against the heel of her hand. "I just thought it was nice that the Collectors gave us this chance to meet—even if they're trying to take all the humans and probably eat them for breakfast."

Garrus let out a long and tired breath. His thoughts back on the Commander and the mission, but his shoulders didn't feel quite so heavy—not even with Kasumi's incessant and annoying poking.


	58. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support (via faves, kudos, comments/reviews, and even just reading)! We're so close to the action I can just smell it but of course, we need all those silences in between.

Chapter 50

Everyone needed a breather.

As soon as Shepard disclosed just about every account that was Reaper related in the last two years, she saw the wrinkles on Ward's face etch deeper and deeper until he had aged years during the eight hour conversation. No amount of five to ten minute recesses could make up for that harrowing fact that loomed over them: the Reapers were coming and the damned Collectors were helping them.

Shepard sighed, leaning back against the backrest of the couch as she sent a message to Joker that it was safe to come back any time. Her old team had gone into their assigned rooms, having been dismissed six hours ago. They would regroup in another six, making that half a solar day in total. She had gotten a two hour nap on the couch. She felt rested and sharp, and meditated for another two hours before landing herself back on the couch.

The silence stretched on. The couch felt wide. The room loomed large.

"I thought you might be awake."

Ward's hair looked half-dry, his civvies gave off a floral-detergent smell—he had folded up the sleeves so that his arms were fully exposed while the tail end of the large scar on his shoulder could be seen dangling from his left arm, barely visible but there.

Shepard returned his smile. Though, the moment she did, he frowned.

"Problem, Ward?"

"I was just thinking," His right arm held his left elbow and he cast his eyes down for a second, then two. "That your smile is different."

"Yeah?" She touched her own cheek, then ran a gloved indexed finger over her lower lip, contouring its arch.

"Well, the Shepard now and the Shepard then are two different people. I don't really know why I'm so surprised." The casual shrug of the shoulders, the faintest of smiles. Ward stepped close enough towards the couches but remained still too far for him to take a seat. "But I feel like it's a happier smile, so that's good."

"I'm glad you like the change then." She motioned for him to keep walking and to take a seat beside her. He froze at it and she frowned. "You'll be doing me a favor, Ethan. Come on over here."

He sighed, finally listening to her and sat across her. He crossed his legs and leaned back against the leather. "Forgive the spinelessness. It's too early in the morning to feign courage."

"Why, Ward? Do I scare you?"

He nodded. "You're a scary person, Jay. Don't let anyone else tell you differently."

She hissed at him. "You haven't changed. No wonder I stopped talking to you."

He buried his face in his hands, raising his voice higher that it came out shrill. "So mean, so rude. It's a good thing you don't smell like feet today—that's probably the best change I've noticed so far."

She ground her teeth. "What do you think a person would smell like after seven hours of PT, every day? Peach blossoms?"

"You could have at least tried to mask it. I mean, what's the use of a rockin' body if it smells like feet?"

If she had a pillow to throw at him or a gun to put a bullet into his brain—it would be just like old times. "Were you always this mean to me when we were together, Ward? Faintly remember you being a lot nicer to me."

"That's only because I was trying to get into your pants even if you smelled like fee—ow!" She poked him on the gut with her foot. Though, poke wouldn't be the word Ward would use to describe what she just did.

"Oh, did that hurt, Ward?" Grinning, she crossed her legs and leaned her chin on her hands. "I thought you liked feet by how many times you'd mentioned it already."

"Ugh, so violent." Ward replied, bent over and out of breath. "How can your current boyfriend stand you?"

Her whole body froze. She thought she recovered fast enough for him not to notice but he was looking at her, torso bent so it touched his thighs, his face turned up towards her. His usually kind eyes were glinting like a knife against the light.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?"

"Intuition." He recovered to lean back against the couch. "When you were recalling the two years you were doing your investigation on the Reapers—I thought at first that maybe you've developed feelings for the Commander but then I noticed some holes here and there when you start recalling a few events." He grinned, his voice dipped lower than usual. "And the Commander was being rebuilt then, so it couldn't be him so there must be someone else."

She gave him her best withering glare but he kept smiling. It was times like these that Shepard was sure that his so-called fear of her was utter bullshit. "Isn't this a little weird? My former fiancé wants me to divulge information about the current—well, thing."

"Well, most former fiancés would want to beat current—things—into a pulpy mess."

"But that isn't what you're interested in."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Why would I be? We aired out our differences right before we split up."

Shepard nodded. Even when they were in the Dominion, before becoming engaged, they had become fast friends—the moment she recruited him, despite everything he had done before that time—he had proven himself to be extremely mature. It was boggling how someone so decent and kind could have gotten himself into so much shit.

"Jay, you know I just want you to be happy." Ward's eyes widened. "And healthy! You've always had such awful habits, like you were raised in a barn."

Shepard shrugged. "I was raised in a rubble pile, actually, so you're not far from the truth."

"Good point." He laughed softly. "But tell me already. Is he younger than us? I feel that he's younger."

"Younger but not by much. Look, we're not exactly—together."

"You mean it's long distance?"

"No, I mean—" She closed her eyes and exhaled. "Well, his mom approves. But as for our official status? It's not really clear."

Ward nodded. "As usual, you're a parent charmer."

Shepard laughed. "It makes no sense considering what I've been doing and where I've been. The generation that experienced the First Contact War is a weird bunch."

"Huh, preach." He rested his chin in his hand. "But, what? You've been skirting around each other for more than two years? That's not like you."

"Well, it's not like I thought about him like that at first. And—well, I have issues. So, we've been sort of playing tag for a while. It's become better though. Just recently. Collectors and Reapers aside."

"Though, nothing is probably going to come out of it unless you guys are in proximity." He nodded. "Any other reasons for the delay?"

"Oh, and he's turian."

That had Ward sitting up. "Wow. Shit. That's a really big wrench in the plans." He looked up for a moment. "I didn't know they could even get attracted to humans."

"But you're not surprised that I'm attracted to him?"

He shrugged. "You liked me, Jay. In spite of everything."

Her hands were warm when she clasped them together. "Now you're being too kind to me."

Ethan smiled back in response. The silence was easy as Shepard leaned back and closed her eyes.

"Jay?"

"Hm?" She answered, still leaning back, her eyes still closed.

"If you ever get the chance, you'll introduce him to me, right?"

She nodded.

"Good." He cleared his throat. "Anything else you wanna tell me, Jay?"

She grunted. Suddenly, sleepy. "The kids might come back today with the pilot. Try not to freak them out."

He chuckled. "Well, I'll try."

* * *

Shepard woke up to Olivia Dawn leering down at her.

"You're such an old man, Oli."

The child had the audacity to smother her hand against her eyes and nose. "That's not what you tell me after we haven't seen each other in a whole day, Shepard!"

Shepard slapped the tiny hand lightly away before springing up, a blanket falling off her torso. She smiled at it for a moment before swinging her bare feet off the couch and stringing up her boots. From the closed kitchen door, she could hear several voices—the loudest being Joker's. Every once in a while Julius' low laugh would be present followed by a shrill complaint from Sara.

"Did you meet my friends, Oli?" She asked as she switched to the second boot. "Were you nice to them?"

"I behaved!" The girl nodded vigorously. "They told me to tell them when you woke up. Ethan is cooking lunch. Join us soon?"

She shooed Oli away to go ahead and get something to eat. Stretching, she opened her omni-tool to check if she got any messages and smiled.

"Something in your face tells me you're up to no good." Joker commented as she walked into the kitchen, taking a seat on the counter beside Julius.

"I'm seeing a contact in a bit." She thanked Ari for the cup of coffee she placed in front of her. Who cares if it was just thirty minutes to noon? "But I should be in time for our next meeting. You guys are free to leave too—just don't be late."

When Ward placed the fries down on the table, all the human hands reached for it at once save Shepard who stirred the contents of her coffee and took a relaxing sip.

When she was done, she stood. "Try not to get into any trouble, Joker."

Joker frowned at her. "Why am I the one who looks like he'd get everyone in trouble?"

"You're really asking me that?" Shepard smirked. Then she turned to Ward, his back still to her as he was still cooking something that smelled absolutely wonderful. "Be sure to lock up before you guys head out."

"Aye, ma'am." He turned back to give her a smile and a mock salute before she left the kitchen to get her things. Her credit chit, her sidearm—she debated the sword as it might give her away to whatever feelers Liara had out in Ilium right now and opted for the submachine gun. She changed into less threatening armor, lightweight and more navy blue and silver and far less grey and black.

Then she rushed out without looking back and into the elevator.

It wouldn't do if Krios got there before her.


	59. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Thanks for all your support. Enjoy this chapter. :)

It was rare to see Lawson angry.

Garrus knew that her mask was usually confident and calm, especially in front of the crew and even more so in the presence of the ground team. Now, she had arms crossed under her chest and lips thinned from pressing them together. As the conference room filled up and the only missing person was Krios (who was excused from this discussion since he had asked for leave) and Alenko, the fact that Lawson made this discussion remarkably low in the priority pool, opposed to the way she was acting, told Garrus there was something more distressing and pressing than what was on the surface.

"I'll be brief." Lawson said as soon as Erash, the last one to enter, settled into one of the free chairs with a nod at Garrus. "The Illusive Man knows about the Commander, to say he isn't pleased is an understatement."

Jack snorted. "Who cares what he thinks?"

"The Commander may have set us up as a detachment—but The Illusive Man's vision was to see Alenko triumph over the Collectors as humanity's champion." Zion said it with enough sarcasm and actual belief that it was hard for even Lawson to be openly angry with him. "Add the fact that it's his funds and connections that's running most of our business. We have to care. Just a little. Sadly."

"He understands that the operation must continue—in spite of his expectations." Lawson rapped her fingers against the table. Garrus was happy to be far away from her—her anger was practically palpable, but could Garrus dare think it was actually directed at The Illusive Man? "But he wants the Commander to head the final push when we jump into Collector space."

"Seriously?" Kasumi asked, her usual smile lost. "That could be any time between tomorrow and three months from now. Either way, it'll be far from a full recovery."

"He might not even have the confidence to do anything but watch vid feeds of Varren pups." Garrus heard Massani mutter, since the merc was to his right on his side of the table.

"Rushing through the treatment inadvisable." Mordin nodded, his seat next to Kasumi's. "Forcing the patient into the mission could have long lasting effects. Psychological. May never be able to live through the flashbacks afterwards. May never return to active duty. Lose even the most basic motor functions. Irrevocable."

"Huh. If he can't live through a few bad dreams then how strong could he possibly be?" Grunt chimed. Garrus chocked it up to youth when he said that. Nonetheless, he sent the krogan a glare that was shrugged off.

"There's no turning back." Lawson said, eyes dark. Even that look got Garrus to sit a little straighter on his seat. "What we do now, what we decide now—when we hit the Relay, we might not come back." Her voice was lower, more so than usual.

"We finish everything we left undone here." Garrus joined in. "Leave no regrets, one day at a time. The Collectors will be cautious after Horizon and so will we, everyone should think about what they wouldn't leave undone if the last of days came." Garrus nodded as all eyes turned to him. "Think about it, while we're still ashore, and don't be afraid to approach either Lawson or I on how you want it done."

They ironed out a few more things- when were they leaving Ilium, where their next destination might be. When everyone was dismissed, neither Lawson nor Garrus left the conference room.

"We'll stall for as long as necessary for Alenko to recover." He agreed, though she remained completely wordless. "And we'll get the ground team ready mentally for the possibility that we might not come back."

"I could have said it straight out." She muttered, staring down at her hands. "But I wasn't sure—how that would make the Commander look when he's trying so hard. Dwre—Cely said so."

"It was the right decision." He nodded.

"And The Illusive Man—"

"He'd hate to think we were stalling. It wouldn't be right for us to."

She nodded. "It really wouldn't. And we wouldn't have to if only I had—if I had conducted the damned tests more thoroughly—" She said through gritted teeth, nearly a hiss.

Lawson was mad at herself, blaming herself, feeling responsible. There wasn't anything Garrus could say that would sound sincere or kind to her. In a small way, he too blamed her for prolonging this. But Garrus knew that it had also been partly the Commander's fault - Alenko had always pushed himself too damned hard and now it was up them to pick up the pieces - just as it was Garrus's fault for not acting fast enough when he knew there was something wrong.

Garrus knew what it meant, however, to feel like you've failed someone. So there was no reason to be cruel to Lawson.

They sat on opposing sides: different in nearly every way but Garrus knew he was staring at his reflection when she nodded at him, both of them wordless for a long, long time.

* * *

Ri, the Egyptian Mau, was especially sweet to Shepard the moment she planted herself on the cushion—boots unbuckled and set aside near the entrance. Ri knew exactly where to press her spotted fur against Shepard's bare legs.

On the other hand, Krios was apparently a cat whisperer, drawing about five of them to him. Two of which—a Bombay and a Persian—made really obscene purring sounds when he ran his deft hands through their fur. The others content on rubbing themselves against his legs too.

An invitation to play chess on Iris would usually mean a duel of some sort. Or actual chess. Though, that would have been too obvious an angle for a bunch of assassins to take. It's not like they had a club that told them to get together to talk about stocks or something. They either killed each other, worked together, or ignored each other. On the off chance that someone accessed either his account or hers—Shepard wanted the guy to think they found some empty lot or building, either having a really quiet game of chess or killing each other.

The last time Shepard did that with anyone—well, she didn't want to sully _that_ golden memory really. Or think about it, because sometimes it ached and it made her feel like a sissy. No, no—she wouldn't think about how close by he probably was right now or how Ward had accepted him without meeting him even, which was the smallest miracle she could ask for in these troubled, dire times.

So, yes, no one would think that the legendary Thane Krios and the boogeyman—Robin, Lorraine, Alice, Shepard—were enjoying milk teas and mochis in a cat café, _Puurty Paws_ —not far from the suburban edges of Ilium. The area had less highrises and less noise from the skycar traffic and bustling population _. Puurty Paws_ was also small with an extensive cat super highway that covered most of the available wall space, a very smiley owner, and low tables that had them sitting on the floor with their shoes off, replaced by indoor slippers, and left at the entrance to keep the dirt off the carpet.

"I'm glad that you decided to accept my invitation, Krios." She smiled, hand on Ri's head. "I was afraid the anonymity would put you off, somehow. You're just retired, after all. Not stupid."

"I had a feeling." His hands left the cats and he laced them together on his lap. The pets whined for a while but settled eventually to scrape and purr against him. "A hunch, you could say, that I was meeting Lor."

She blinked. "He did something similar?"

He nodded. "An old memory. Though—we ended up in a Gentleman's Club. And we didn't do much catching up."

Shepard sputtered. "You didn't."

Krios chuckled. "He wanted to shoot himself afterwards. He never entered a club since."

She scoffed. "Yeah, he always sent me. Like it was healthy to send a fifteen year old girl into a den full of drunk mercs and half-naked asari."

"That man was a true snob." Krios nodded, smiling. "But a kind and true friend. I haven't seen him in a very, very long time. A lot—everything, has changed for me. The fact that you're not with him now—I'm sure a lot has changed for the two of you too."

Shepard nodded. "You could say that."

Krios nodded again. "You also have the same habit of beating around the bush on personal matters."

"Oh."

Until this moment, Shepard had never met Krios. However, she was familiar with his history with Lor, familiar with his modus and reputation as someone in the same business, and despite being outside of the Legion, Krios was considered a true master, _Ageal_.

Lor and Krios had become adept at the trade at roughly the same time. Of course, different cultures and maybe rival customers had them pitted against each other more often than not. They were rivals, basically. But after the fall of the League, Lor and Krios stopped fighting and became actual friends. Shepard even caught her teacher talking to him through code in Iris before he terminated his account. In effect, they knew details of each other's lives that people in their trade wouldn't normally share. As contemporaries, they had a similar smell about them. Even more than Mordin.

Having been disconnected from Lor for so long, she had held the misconception that she was the closest thing to a family that Lor would ever have that was still living. This belief fueled her urgency to find him and be reunited with him. But what did Lor want? That he went an extra mile to move beneath her radar meant that he didn't want to be reunited with her. That she found her siblings was down to sheer coincidence and a blatant disregard in following orders on their part. That he hadn't informed her in some way that he was taking in students or that he was even alive revealed how much her direct involvement meant.

But people didn't send prayers to people they didn't want to see. And though she wasn't meant to hear it, he had been comforted by the fact that she was alive even if it meant that he would never see her again. He spoke about her to Oli and Julius, he named her his heir as the next leader of the Legion of One, giving her permission to take students of her own.

What did Lor really want? For all the years Shepard spent thinking about him—if he was well, if he was safe, if he had succeeded in his mission for revenge—she knew nothing at all.

As the ice melted in her cup, they collapsed and rang against her ears. She looked up to find Krios staring at her, leaning forward on the table, waiting.

"What was _Abrul_ , father, like?" She whispered at last, her fingers stroking Ri's fur and the cat purred beneath her touch—warm, alive. "When the two of you were younger? I'm sure if there was anyone who would remember—who would know Lor the best, it would be his best friend."

Most of the drell Shepard knew weren't the most expressive people. Even Mad, maniacal as he was, didn't have many tells, only a gleam in his eyes whenever he was up to no good. That and the tendency of lifting the left side of his lips when he was amused.

But Krios's face was full of tenderness; he smiled and the scales of his face seemed to glow as he began, his voice perfectly suited for weaving tales about a time even Shepard hadn't known about Lor.


	60. Interlude VIII

**Interlude VIII: Left Behind**

Grizz was sure he had been abandoned by the universe.

Every place he'd been that had Legs's scent was stale. He went from Cipritine to Renaudi to Cipritine again. The place hadn't changed: pristine, petulant glass. He always saw himself in the reflection of every structure and building—distorted, unfamiliar to him.

With the heat building up under his armor; he was reminded of Omega which was all the cold and the black. He missed it already. Even if all that was probably waiting for him was the butt of a rifle to his balls and a lot of yelling but even the thought of Aria kicking his ass was preferable to the blatant stares. Fuck, it's not like he was a talking klixen.

The thing about Palaven was that even a grimy volus was welcomed; but a barefaced turian? No. Worse than a bareface? A turian who had scraped his colony markings and had the scars left behind to prove he was turian-bred and born. A traitor. Dishonorable. Disowned. A no-face.

But here he stood, defiant as ever, and with the damned gloves made by that human in his duffel bag—dammit, Legs better be close or he would shoot the next kid that stared at him. It didn't help that he was currently making his way up the point of no return: the Vakarian Villa.

Grizz was familiar with the stories about the Vakarians. He'd known them as straight-laced, law-abiding citizens who ended up going up the ranks of the Hierarchy faster than a pyjack on stims can climb a tree. But what made the Vakarian abode so intimidating was not how large it was, or how wide, or how it was just too freaking big for anyone's life, really.

It was the fact that _the_ Aelia Vakarian lived here. Known formerly as Aelia Lentinus. She was—damn, there were no words. She was probably one sure shot away of being ruler of the universe if she just gave a shit about it, which she didn't—and that was what made her so awesome. She stuck to her craft, mastered it better than any thousand year old asari biddy ever could. She was the crown jewel of the Hierarchy, and the Meritocracy rewarded every man and woman who shined just as brightly as she did.

What freaked Grizz out was why the hell Legs would even be here—let alone know the woman? They were opposites—in a way. Aelia spent a lot of her early days in the spotlight—well, she didn't speak much but everyone knew who she was. Legacy was a phantom, a proverbial boogeyman. Whatever made these two women cross paths must have been some force of nature.

"State your business, no-face." The guard at the gate growled. Normally, the Villa's gates were open to the public with sentries all over the place. He remembered that much every time he thought about getting to at least the door and imagining he could see Aelia by chance somehow.

Grizz made no show of arming himself. "Uh. Looking for a human—tall, dark-red hair, has the best pair of legs you've seen but you probably have no taste in anything."

The sound from the guard's throat was guttural and disgusted. "Get out of here, lowlife. We don't allow crap like you near the Villa."

"Oh, have a heart, turian. All I need is to have something passed along, yeah? Is she here?"

That's when the guard pulled out his gun. "I don't give second warnings, no-face."

"Grizz?"

Grizz already had his hand on his sidearm—he was Omega as much as Aria was and he'd definitely shoot faster than this asshole could even blink. But he looked over the guard who, at the same time, turned back with a salute.

Nyreen Kandros. The boss barely got into any affairs or liaisons. Despite her dominating persona, she was a private person and no one seemed to get that close. He'd been working for her for as long as he was dishonored and shipped off the nearest crime hub that needed a good arm to shoot but she barely even blinked at him most days. But Kandros was a different story—the boss never looked at anyone as she did her and when she left—well, let's say things were wrong for a long damn time.

"Kandros!" He held on to the bars, peaking in through the space. "Help a brother out, huh? I'm looking for Legs, you seen her?"

"Legs? You mean Legacy?" Kandros walked up closer to the gate, rushed there in fact. She politely shooed the guard away and he shrugged before moving to the opposite side. "Now is a bad time for you to drop by Grizz—how did you know Legacy was even here?"

"Well, Mordin told me she would be in Palaven—then I sort of followed a trail."

"A trail? Legacy doesn't leave any damn trails."

He grinned. "Come on, old girl. There is always a trail. You just have to know where to look."

Next thing he knew, he was being led inside the Vakarian Villa.

It was better than he imagined. Stately pillars and columns, courtyards with plants of white steel and vibrant blue—the hallways could fit crowds, tiled with the shells from the few beaches that were in Palaven. What he didn't expect was the sheer amount of people—government and medical personnel that littered the halls. No wonder the security seemed tight at the gate.

"So, let's walk and talk, Grizz. Why are you looking for Shepard?"

"Shepard? She changed her name back? Tell me she isn't doing—"

"None of that." They stopped in front of a door at the end of hall. Kandros dismissed the sentries there and they saluted before walking away. "She was here, but she left— less than two weeks, GS? Basically, you just missed her." She led him inside a bare office. Spartan, as humans would call it. Not even a library. It was probably where Kandros was assigned to work. She went around her desk and sat.

"Do you know where she's going?"

"A message was relayed to me of their itinerary, yes. But, why are you looking for her? And how did you get leave from Aria? Are you not working for her anymore?" She motioned at the chair and he took it, faceplates lifted up. "What?"

"If you're still so worried about the boss, you shouldn't have left."

"And if you don't want to be executed when you get back to Omega, you better have a good story for Aria."

He snapped his mandibles together. He didn't want to be accused of desertion, among all the other things he's already been accused of from his family (perversion, actual sickness—bigoted scum, his family). Friends still waited for him back in Afterlife, maybe not Aria, but friends. And a girlfriend by the name of Ria Jackson if he played his cards right and tried not to stare too closely at her spot, dancing in nearly nothing, in the club.

Pulling out the pair of gloves, they fell on the table with a puff of wind. "It's for her. One of the Archangel boys—Grundan? Yeah, promised to give it to her in—Kandros? You all right?"

There was a keening sound against Kandros throat, it laced her sub-tones when she replied: "Archangel's team—most of them are dead."

"What?" He sat up straight. "How? Not Archangel himself, though? Legacy—"

"He's alive." She leaned her chin on her laced talons. "She was close to Grundan. She'd really—" Kandros hissed. "She'd like something to remember him by, I'm sure. I'll pay for your transport and everything, send you to the right place so you can meet her."

"Hang on. I thought you'd like to be the one to do it? You and Legs go way back."

"And you two don't?" Kandros leaned back on her chair. It looked as uncomfortable as the squeaky sound it produced. "She'd welcome your ugly mug. And, some blessing from her would minimize the chances that you'd be shot on sight when you head back to Omega."

"The boss does really like Legs, doesn't she?"

"They're kindred spirits." She chuckled. "They have few friends in this galaxy."

"But they do have us."

"They do."

He stopped his laugh with a cough. Kandros had that faraway look on her face so she probably didn't hear or didn't care. She wasn't as forthcoming about her relationship with Aria, but still—she said they. Frankly, Kandros coming back to Omega would be a nice dream.

"In return," Kandros suddenly said. "There's something I'd like you to do for me."

"Hm. What is it?"

Kandros was a nice person. In comparison to Legs and the boss, she was a veritable saint. But when she leaned forward, face plates lifted, teeth showing—she didn't look any less dangerous than those two. "I want you to look for a certain drell."

* * *

The old days. Lately, Captain Ethan Ward thought about the old days a lot.

Back when he was plodding from one sleazy den to another, lazing around the training arenas while getting high, glaring at superiors who told him, straight to his face: "You'd never measure up to your father."

One superior did believe, though. Staff Commander Shepard believed in him. Trained him, challenged him. When life went from bad, to good, to worse—when one woman, he'd laugh now at how he couldn't even remember her name. But he did remember her soft brown eyes when he nailed her to the bed—and then, how her eyes burned—a year old child in her arms.

"You owe me, Ward." She spat in the office. His father's office. "I took care of your brat and got what? Nothing. Fucking nothing. I could go to the press for this. I know who your father is—you talk about everything when you're as high as the sky. And I know everything."

She was compensated into silence afterwards. But Ward remembered the way Fifth Fleet Admiral Hackett, who was barely ever on Earth, had come to visit him—how they talked about making amends, about—fucking fishing, for god's sake. Now, he was looking at him, older and sadder. Ward felt the whole world he was starting to look forward to crumble around him.

He didn't know anything about raising a child. How was this going to be explained to HQ? What would his father look like in front of Parliament? What would he look like to the military? Admiral Hackett never said a word, never blamed him—but still, he felt guilty. For the first time, he felt guilty for all the shit he used to get into.

It was her hand on his shoulder that made everything better. She was the one who proposed the plan—a mutually beneficial engagement, she called it. It was just her father and himself who had to put their thumbprints on the datapads. She was the one who helped him raise Mandy—what to buy, how to hold her, how to teach her things. Mandy came to his care in the worst state—skinny beyond anything, bruises all over her body, and her mother's scared brown eyes.

"It'll get better." Shepard said, smiling as she put her hand on top of Mandy's head. "She'll come to trust you with time. Be patient with her."

They were only really together for a year. On paper, though, they've been married for two.

When Shepard left, well, it wasn't easy.

When you've dipped your hands in any vice, it's hard to pull it out when your arms were deep into the cookie jar. Every day was one more day sober and clean. Shepard made the days easier—but even she had told him that the bad days would probably never go away. When she left, wrenched her physical presence from all the places they used to know—God, he remembered the way his lips trembled, the way his hand shook when he entered the den. It was the year 2180, the Dominion was gone after three years of success. He lost all his closest friends in one fell swoop.

Back at home, however, a three year old was waiting for him—probably asleep, probably coloring something in the holos. Just yesterday, she drew him, her, and Shepard in a 2-D apartment complex. They even had a dog.

He pulled himself from the bar, walked as fast and as hard as he could and then he had Mandy in his arms. He left the holo display on the fridge.

"How are you really doing?"

Shepard pulled him back to 2185. The magnetism of the vice was still the same. It never did go away, just like she told him. Still, he managed just the mere lick of his lips at the impulse. He cradled his hands against each other at the temptation and he thought of Mandy and how much she still talked about Shepard.

"Should you really be asking me that, Jay? After how much Oli cried during that meeting?"

Shepard's sigh was a long-suffering one. "She's been a little spoiled by her father and brothers."

"She just feels like you're abandoning her." He answered softly. "She's obviously been through a lot."

"Well, I'm not." She muttered. "I think I explained clearly that New York was a DMZ and way too dangerous for them to accompany me."

"She'll understand eventually."

"Hm. I hope you're right." She looked at him, putting Garret's head over her shoulder as he gurgled and spat, fist in his mouth and Shepard pulled it out for the nth time today. "And what about you? I know you said you agreed with the plan but that was as Captain Ward, not Ethan."

He hummed aloud in response, leaning back on one foot. "Your plan is as pragmatic as they come, Jay. You stationed Sara and Joker—engineer and pilot, respectively for your ship's retrofits. Sara can also tickle her asari friends every once in a while for info and other things—"

"Why does the thought of Sara tickling asari seem so plausible—"

"Then, you placed the kids—Garret, Oli, and Julius—under my care. Accompanied by Ari, because she's a biotic badass and the kids could learn from her. Plus, it's extra protection for all of us in case of anything unsavory." He nodded. "It may seem a little cold to the kids. But it does make a whole lot of sense to me."

"And you'll watch out for them?"

"With my life."

Now, here Shepard was—the same in all the ways that mattered. Elegant in her stance, in the arch of her eyebrow. Tilting her head to the side, she was likely weighing his words next to the way he smiled or the way he stood. She had Garret in her arms with his chubby chin leaning on her shoulder. Wasn't it just five years ago, a year old Mandy was exactly where Garret was? For whatever reason, other than children, everyone was afraid of Shepard. Full grown adults were usually one of two things: afraid of her or afraid to lose her.

Shepard—she could be ruthless. You got cut and it was done. It was weird. Everything about her was—prickly, painful, powerful. You'd think you'd want to kill that person—shoot a few bullets through their skull. But in the end, there you are, gun in your hand—desperately asking her to fall in love with you or else you'd shoot yourself.

She moved people. Sometimes in good ways. Sometimes in bad ways.

He liked to think her influence on him was the former though.

"Are you really okay, Ward?" Shepard stood across him, actual worry in her brow.

He smiled at her even wider. "Never better, Shepard."


	61. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy~

Shepard stood at Dock 159, where the frigate _Elaina_ sat magnificently. It wasn't as technologically advanced as the _Normandy_ or the _Temperament_. But as a wholly human built vessel, there was an aesthetic pleasure from looking at a ship that didn't have militaristic bullheadedness at the forefront. _Elaina_ was built for recon so it was even smaller than the Normandy and sleeker with a darker, shark-grey tone.

It was the ship that would house her family—guard them, protect them. She clenched her fists and then folded her arms behind her back.

Shepard turned to Julius, who held Garret closely to his chest. "I'll see you guys soon. Take care of them."

He nodded. "Safe travels, Shepard." His tone was much lighter than he let on and he looked down at Olivia who clutched on to the back of his left leg. "Oli, stop being difficult."

"I wanna go with Shepard."

"She won't let us." He clicked his mandibles. "Let's be obedient for once, for the family's sake."

Oli, stubborn as an ox, turned away and pushed past even Ari who shrugged. She climbed into the _Elaina_ , never turning back with her cheeks puffed up and her arms crossed. Julius reached for Shepard's forearm and then gave it a light squeeze. "She's probably going to cry. She did that when Lor left too."

"I won't hold it against her then." Shepard returned the hold and reached for his forearm. "You're safe with my friends but never let your guard down. Even with them. Your priority is to keep the family and yourself safe. Never jeopardize that. Not for anything or anyone."

Julius gave her arm a tighter squeeze before letting go. Carefully, he shifted Garret so that the child faced her with large blue eyes.

"'Perd!" He pointed up at her and reached out. Bending down to kiss him lightly on the head, she muttered his name and prayer in the language of the League.

Shepard watched them board, her own bag slung over her shoulder as she waved at them. Ari gave her a short hug and boarded herself.

"It's not too late to rethink all of this."

Shepard sighed. Of course, Ward would opt to be the last in. When she faced him, he had his hands behind his back, his posture as ramrod straight as any soldier's would be. It was a far cry from the first time they met—back then, she was the officer with her hands behind her back and he was keeping the façade of wayward son, practically melted on the chair with his eyes red from the drugs and his tongue swollen and slurring as he called her, of all things, 'too pretty to be a hooker.'

Now they stood, side by side, looking at the _Elaina_. Crossing her arms, she chuckled under her breath. "Says the one who said my idea was sound."

"Your ideas are always sound." He replied. "Doesn't mean I don't want you to get into the _Elaina_ with us."

She turned her head to face him fully. She didn't like that she could feel the worry that must have been etched on her brow then. "Ethan—"

"Jay." He chuckled. Of course, he would laugh at the face of her worry. He nudged her with his elbow. "Don't let me stop you from what you need to do."

"It doesn't stop me from feeling like an ass."

"Why?"

"Because I know I can trust you but I just can't—"

"Undo all the training and instincts you built up to now?" He blinked. "I'd probably listen to you over my own voice—but I'm going to give your family my all. Ari is in there too and we both know she whoops more ass than any sales clerk could." He shrugged. "I'm not going to tell you to give me blind faith but I'll take care of them. Just know that."

Shepard nudged him back. "I do know that."

"Good." He started his walk back to his ship. "Keep me posted, Jay. And try not to get mortally injured this time."

"I'll try."

"Oh." He stopped just barely out of earshot. "Kindly contact my dad when you get the chance. The last he heard of you was from, what, when that bastard Admiral sent that assassin out for you in Omega?

Shepard huffed. "Tell your old man to just _know_ I'm alive, Ward."

He chuckled. "You know the Admiral Hackett—he doesn't want even the sliver of doubt to remain. And, can you just get it in your skull that you're his damned favorite?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll contact Hackett at my earliest convenience."

"Excellent." He sent her a wave. " _Aravesh veran_ , Jay."

She smiled at his retreating form. She had taught him that phrase from the League's language. It roughly translated to "May your vessel catch fair winds." It was a wayfaring phrase from a long time ago, when the League was nomadic and free.

Shepard waited till the ship was unclamped and off the dock before leaving her spot. Mostly because she wanted to be sure they got off Ilium space safely.

Partly, because she dreaded what she needed to do next.

* * *

When Garrus answered the rap on the door to the Battery, he didn't expect batarians to be able to pull off such a smug face. Much less, Erash.

Garrus mandibles clicked and he went back to his calibrations. His visor tight against his head and his under armor clinging to his frame. He opted to wear a pair of civvies below his torso but there was something about shore leave and just being able to calibrate in peace that invited the "near nudity" (Erash's description, not his). Garrus thought that under armor was very appropriate for his solitary work, if not a little tight.

"I'm guessing," Erash walked in and the double doors closed behind him. He leaned back with his arms crossed against his chest. "EDI hasn't told you."

"Garrus has instructed me to not interrupt his work for the next 24 hours unless it was at least a code yellow." The female automated voice piped in and the blue hologram just right by the door joined it. "Since the visitor was given the Commander's strict orders to be allowed through all levels, even XO Lawson can't override it."

"Said XO is also not on the ship. Along with most of the crew." Erash nodded. "Timing is impeccable, as always. Even Mordin isn't here and he isn't going to like that he wasn't."

"Okay, Erash, I give in." Garrus folded his arms over his chest, standing straight. "What is going on? What are you talking about?"

* * *

Cely, the dwraena priestess who made herself both the doorkeeper and immediate caretaker of Commander Alenko, was both remarkable in disposition and character. She smiled at Shepard, with no hidden agenda, and allowed her to enter without fuss or complaint. The woman even offered her a Rosé wine from the bottle she was currently enjoying.

The kinship Shepard felt for her when she described the wine—spicy, warm— was almost too immediate, it was frightening.

Of course, Shepard was sure it had something to do with Alenko's somewhat tired but easy smile when he saw her. They shook hands, and he even drew Shepard in for a brief one armed hug which she didn't protest. Cely dragged in a desk chair that looked a little scuffed around the feet but still it was comfortable to sit on when she planted herself on it.

"It's not every day that a good friend offers me wine." She said immediately before Alenko could even think to open his mouth. "Or, rushes me to the Captain's Cabin to hide me from the rest of the staff."

His grin turned sheepish. "You being here isn't exactly—permitted. On account of, well," He motioned at himself, legs under the covers and his normally quaffed hair looked greasy. "But I've been doing okay. More than I thought I ever could be. Granted."

"Granted." She handed him the flowers she bought on her way there. The petals were white and they smelt almost like jasmine. He took it gratefully. "Those are very accepting words."

His smile held the same warmth it did two years ago. Shepard was glad to see it—in spite of the red scarring, the dark circles under his eyes, his dry and chapped lips. "How did you deal with it?"

"With what?"

"The nightmares—after Akuze."

She flicked her gaze at the asari standing on the opposite side of the bed. Nodding simply, she gave away nothing in her small smile. Shepard sighed. "They don't really leave you, Bud."

"Oh." The Commander couldn't look anymore dejected just then.

"Some days I dream good dream, other days—not so good." She laced her fingers above her lap. "When everything had just happened—I couldn't move at all. Barely spoke to anyone. I had an important backer hush everything up but, believe me, I was a lot messier than I am now."

"I believe you." He put his hand above both of hers and grabbed on for dear life. "Sorry for—not being here—not being alive. Leaving the loose strings to you."

Shepard blinked. "You knew about that?"

"Garrus told me a little about what's happening in Palaven. How you were involved." He smiled. "Also, Aria seemed awfully nice to me."

She snorted. "That woman isn't nice to anyone."

Alenko looked down, smile still there but his eyes weren't as bright. "I know you can't discuss the details with me. Not with how I am now. But I wanted to thank you anyway, for everything. For picking up the slack for me even when I didn't ask you to."

Shepard shook her head, moving her right hand atop his. Holding his one hand between both of hers, she thought she'd trapped a bird between them from the way he trembled in her grasp. "You can't apologize for being gone. That wouldn't be right or fair. Although, I can't exactly thank the ones who helped put you together." She grinned, but she couldn't quite smother the fire under her skin at the thought of Akuze. "I can't lose my spiteful spirit, not even for you."

"Not all the people in Cerberus are awful." He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. They both heard a hiss from the asari and he immediately unlatched it like a child with his hand caught inside the cookie jar. "Though, I can't say I've been practicing what I preach. I've been—not so friendly to them lately."

"And you feel bad?" She glared at that. "You can't really believe that's your fault either. Cerberus has a reputation. And I can tell you honestly: every awful thing you've heard about them is most likely true."

"But not everyone here has rendered long enough service. Most have about two years, max." Alenko countered and she raised an eyebrow at him. "So you can't call them Cerberus, not really."

She sighed while patting his hand. "There, there, Alenko. I didn't come here to debate with you. We can say that the Normandy has its own—spirit—independent from Cerberus. Granted."

He nodded back. "Granted." Then he frowned. "Did you just give me the argument?"

She shrugged.

He mock huffed. It was good, Shepard thought, that in spite of everything he managed to hold on to a sliver of humor. "You would never throw an argument. Even when I met you in that Citadel café with a black eye and an arm on a sling—where did all the pity come from?"

"I'm not going to be accused of raising your blood pressure or putting your mental dampers on critical, Commander." She laughed. "And there was no way in hell I was going to lose a debate to you and that smartass, Vakarian. Man, did it feel good to put that lost look on his face when I won."

He chuckled airily. "You did go to special lengths to really drive your arguments to him home, Shepard. Rather forcefully and no less logically sound than anyone expects."

His smile had a little light in it. It had a sort of—twinkling— that made her narrow her eyes instinctively. "What?"

"What, what? He echoed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm. Because I really love that you're here?"

"Bzzt, try again."

He laughed heartily, returning her hold on his hand with a gentle pressure. "I have another question."

"What?"

"Are you—forgive the lack of term—open-minded to be involved romantically with people outside of the human race?" She didn't answer at first. Alenko's skin flushed dramatically, second-per-second. "Don't leave me hanging, Bud. I feel like I'm holding up my bare ass in front of a stadium of people."

"Damn, what's with the pussy-footing, Commander?" She rolled her eyes but laughed at the way he glared. "If you're asking me if I'm pansexual, then yes."

"Oh, so you are—wait, you're what?"

"Open to mostly any race or gender, yes." She quirked a lip at his wide-eyed expression. "Though I've yet to meet a decent volus—but those hanar with their tentacles! Mm-mmm."

"You are shitting me."

She huffed. "I am not shitting. I swear. What?"

"You don't look like the type who'd just—you know."

She slapped his hand a little forcefully this time. "If you're saying people have to look a certain way to be categorized then we are going to get into an argument. And, heads up, I'm not going to throw it this time."

He bowed his head a little. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"You shouldn't." She nodded. "And also, I was shitting about the hanar but not about the pansexuality. And definitely, not about the volus."

He blinked. "So, you've done it with—a turian?"

It was her turn to blink. "I… have? Wait, why so specific about the turian? Most people by now would ask about what it's like to Embrace Eterni—ah yeah, I think you know what that's like, huh?"

Alenko tsked at Shepard who just laughed. Then, he shifted in his seat, eyes flickering to Cely who just smiled at both of them. "Don't hold back on my account, Commander. I've lived a long life. Pansexuality is a trait we asari understand well."

Shepard smiled. "It can be fun too."

Cely nodded. "Very fun."

Shepard inclined her head at Cely. "She's great. You should keep her."

Alenko's ears turned lobster red before he tightened his hold on her hand. "Don't try to derail me, Shepard. I was asking about the turian. When, ah, when did you sleep with a turian?"

"Hm, I was pretty young then. I think I was a trainee for the Alliance. Still, I had half my foot in the biz." She put a hand on her chin. "He was someone I've worked with for about half a year. Infiltration missions to gather information and—steal things. Probably, one of the best actors I've worked with. A true artist. And he had a very nice Renaudi accent. Or a very good impersonation of it."

"So, you still work with him? See him?"

She raised an eyebrow at him again, higher now than it was when she first raised it. "On occasion. I'm not entirely sure what he's up to now. I haven't seen him in a very long time." Alenko sagged with relief. "Though, we occasionally trade info. One of the very few friends I still have in the galaxy, I'd hate to lose him. Even sex couldn't cloud the bond we've formed as partners. Fear of death does that to people." She cocked her head to the side. "Are you going to explain the game of 20 questions? Or do I have to start prying?"

Alenko opened his mouth to speak but only air came out. He snapped it shut, teeth clicking and he reached for his unshaven chin. "It's—"

"Commander Alenko," An automated voice, seemingly all around them, suddenly spoke. "Acting Commander Vakarian is requesting permission to gain access to your floor—"

"Damn, we've been caught—"

"He, quote, 'Does not appreciate the use of medical emergencies to hide guests from crew.' End quote."

"Your VI is a little—wait." Shepard smirked at him. "Well, damn. Cerberus has a lot of credits to spend and guts to spill—making an AI, huh?"

"EDI has been very helpful, Shepard. Don't be rude." He chastised and she retained her smirk. "EDI, please tell Garrus to give us a few minutes." Alenko turned to her from looking up at his ceiling to smirk back.

"So," he let that word hang between them.

She patted him a few times on the hand before standing, letting go of him and stepping away from the bed. Shepard tried to ignore the darkness that creeped into Alenko's gaze just then. "I think that's my cue to go?"

Alenko glared at her.

"What?" There was that annoying twinkle there (still much better than the darkness and she was glad for it—but damn, it was still very annoying) and she crossed her arms. " _What_?"

"Really, leaving?" Alenko pressed his lips together. There was something of the Commander in him just then, in spite of the pajamas and the dark circles under his eyes. "You don't think I have some dark, nefarious reason to allow you in here?"

"You know, this playing evil would work a lot better if you actually shaved—and if you didn't have a bunch of really fragrant flowers by your bedside."

Alenko looked at the flowers just then, with some very misplaced discontent, right before he turned to her sharply. "Shepard, don't think I'll pretend I don't know who you are—and how you could offer this team a wealth of power and experience."

She sighed. "Alenko, I really just came to see how you were doing." She took a deep breath when his gaze became darker. "I have my own personal affairs to settle." She raised her hand when he was about to argue. "Before you protest, I need to tell you now that I cannot put it off—there are things I need to do. Duty and blood and purpose—everything I know about myself ties me to it. So no, even if the world might end tomorrow, I cannot. No matter what you say, I cannot." She nodded. "I hope you understand, that my debt to you—as of now—has been paid in full."

The tricky thing about the century was how soldiers were built differently now. Any soldier worth their salt was always taught to be wary of biotic discharge, especially one that was fueled with no control. Shepard hadn't gotten rid of a lot of the lessons she learned in the Alliance. She was expecting things to rattle now or something to fly at her—she couldn't even blame it on Alenko either. He wasn't well.

Even though she could feel the dark thrum beneath her feet, nothing moved or clinked. Though Alenko's stare was all at once silent and terrifying, Cely only needed to take a single step forward—enough that her boot echoed and, Shepard was sure, her own energy seemed to settle all around them.

In the end, Alenko snapped out of his dazed darkness—shaking his head. He blinked rapidly at Shepard before smiling.

"Fine."

Shepard sighed. Relieved for plenty of reasons. "Good."

"I have a condition though."

She crossed her arms. "Fine."

"You need to tell us why."

She sighed again, shrugging her shoulders before sitting back down. "Alright—wait, us?"

"Cely will stay of course." Alenko nodded at the asari. "EDI," he looked up at the ceiling again. "Tell Garrus he can come up now."


	62. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all those who have been commenting/reviewing and just sending me such great feedback! Your words are truly helping me a lot. When I feel a little lost I always go back to those reviews/comments and wrack my brains to get moving. For the past few days, I've re-read the story from chapter one, once again. I've been itching to edit it but most of the mistakes are minor enough to let it slide until this story is done.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a little talky. The next one up is one of my fave chapters yet. However, haha, monthly updates will continue because my writing speed atm is... slow (read: understatement).
> 
> Nonetheless, hope this chapter finds you well! Leave me some love, if you can. Would love to hear from you lovely readers, as always.

When he got to the Loft's floor, Garrus waited longer to make his way inside than he did waiting for Alenko's (or, in a way, Cely's) permission to climb to the Captain's quarters.

He wasn't scared, Spirits forbid, of seeing Shepard. If anything, he had looked forward to them finally meeting, even if this was somewhat by chance (or was it? He didn't know with Shepard anymore.). But he felt his blood pulse—warm and thick—beneath the crisscrossing scars on his face. Reaching up, he smoothed the bandage there and wondered if it would make Shepard feel uncomfortable, or worse, disgusted.

He shuffled in place for a long time. On one hand, he was aware that Shepard didn't care so much about the trappings than she did about the gift. On the other hand, he was worried that he was making weird metaphors and, did he actually refer to himself as a present? Spirits, he really was losing his mind.

Damn it all.

He put his hand on the door panel and the entrance slid open. Walking, he tried not to think about how heavy his feet felt and how warm his plates were under his bandage.

The chair Shepard was sitting on slid and scraped as she stood up. He felt, rather than saw her watching him walk down the steps to stop at the foot of Alenko's bed. He fixed his gaze to whatever was straight ahead of him.

"Commander." Garrus stood with his arms behind his back and cleared his throat. "Sorry for intruding."

Alenko shook his head. "Not at all. You knocked at a good time. I know you remember—what name does he know you by?" The Commander looked up at her, genuinely unsure of what to call her in front him.

Garrus's mandibles fluttered when their eyes met. "There's no need for the introductions, Commander. He knows what to call me." She stared at the bandage far too long for comfort. Then, she fixed her eyes at the chipped off collar of his armor. "I didn't know you had to match the scars with the suit, Garrus."

"Well, I did hear that symmetry is a human aesthetic." He hummed under his breath when she smirked. "Failing that, there's always krogan women. They may not have a taste for finer points in fashion but they do really like scars."

"At least you're well aware of your options."

"Always, Shepard." He stepped a little closer to her, but then he realized that she might be uncomfortable with looking at the scar so he fixed his position to face Alenko, obscuring her view of the bandage. Was he worrying too much about it? She didn't seem to mind what scars were on his face at all. She wasn't even trying to look.

Shepard hissed just then. He wasn't really sure why but she crossed her arms and sat back down on her chair. When she turned to look at Alenko, she hissed again. "Stop doing that, Commander."

"Doing what?" Garrus could hear the feigned innocence in his tone, in spite of the lack of dual chords.

Garrus bounced his gaze back to Shepard who leaned back with a sigh.

The silence was different then. Shepard had her hands tight and held against her lap. Her eyes fixated too long and too hard on the scorched and broken tip of his armor. When Garrus moved his eyes to Alenko, he had his gaze fixed on Shepard's face— as if waiting for her to speak or continue but she had yet to start anything. Cely also had her eyes on Shepard, which is to be expected— she must think the woman to be the greatest mystery a mind healer could ever find.

Standing amidst all this was Garrus, who kept his eyes up even if he wanted to look down at his feet and shuffle at all this— quiet.

"Anyway, the reason why I can't be part of the team—"

Garrus's spine stiffened. Spell suddenly broken. "Wait, you invited Shepard to join the Normandy, Commander?"

Alenko blinked. So did Cely, as she turned towards him. Did he say that too loud or something? "Yes, I thought she'd be an excellent part of the team. Sadly, she declined."

He stopped himself from shuffling in place again. But his hand reached for a sidearm that wasn't there and he wished with all his might that he had at least put his visor on since he decided to come up here with armor (which he had almost forgot but Erash had made that naked comment again so he was forced to put it on).

"I've been tasked to take care of a child. By a friend." Shepard said before he could open his mouth to speak—not that any sound would come out of that, if he was being completely honest with himself. "I've put him in the care of a trusted friend but that's temporary—I plan to take care of him until he can decide for himself how he would like to live." She laced her fingers together. "But I can't take care of him unless I fix the problems from my past."

Alenko raised his eyebrows. "And you don't think the Collectors and the Reapers might get in the way?"

"There are plans in motion, other than the Normandy, that are already preparing for the Reapers. I have people working on that front. We all know that in the grand scheme of things, the Reapers is a threat to the entire cosmos. A big fucking problem, in short." She leaned forward. "But for me to leave my place in the background to join the Normandy in the limelight?" She shook her head from side to side. "I can't compromise my location with everything that's been happening."

"Is this—" Garrus hesitated, shifting his gaze from Alenko to Cely. "Is this about your mentor?"

"Yeah. He's alive." Shepard nodded. "I told you, didn't I? About the kids I met in the pirate hub?" She waited for his nod and then looked at Alenko. "It turns out my mentor picked up more students while he was traveling." She smiled. "I have—siblings, so to speak. One of them is being a wretch."

"What do you mean?" Alenko prodded.

Shepard sighed again. "Long story short, he went missing because he's trying to find me—find me being the operative word for kill me. My mentor went off to try to find him. And the kids went off to try to find Lor. It's all a really messed up cycle. One I'd like to cut."

Garrus's mandible clicked together. Of course, he remembered everything she revealed to him about the League of One. How she was a living legacy of an ancient family—proof of it was hanging around her neck, after all. He remembered how much her face paled when she mentioned the possibility that she might not even see her father's grave—even if her voice was steady and her heartbeat calm— and just how much of her life was dedicated to bringing that closure.

Now, it was here. That moment she was waiting for since the man had left her. Garrus was surprised she even bothered to visit Alenko, moreover, he surprised she was even bothering to explain herself.

"There's something I left behind. On earth." She spoke after what felt like a long silence. "New York is a DMZ, however. So I left the kids in someone else's care in the meantime. I need to retrieve the item—and then resume my search for my mentor. I plan to regroup with him and then we'll search for that idiot. This time together."

Alenko nodded. "I see."

Shepard smiled, it was a small one with the subtlest quirk of her lips but it was there. "I'm sorry, Commander. For all that's worth."

"No, I'm sorry. For imposing. And for asking—this seems intensely private and complicated." Alenko shook his head. "And I understand. I've learned that when you put small things aside, they come back for you. And not as colossal as Reapers. Just tendrils of something, small—growing, ready to choke you when you least expect it. I wouldn't want those things going after what's mine."

Garrus closed his eyes, bowing his head. This was why he wanted the crew to have some closure too. Before they all rode into hell. And all the tiny implications that applied to himself, to Alenko, and to Shepard.

"That being said," Alenko spoke. "I don't think you should go to New York alone."

"That's where I was raised you know." She challenged. "I know the place like the back of my hand. Omega isn't much different and Tuchanka, yeesh—and if anything, it has better food than both those places put together."

"If you're comparing it to Omega," he pointed at Garrus. "Forgive the rudeness, but I'd really prefer to keep my 'friend-shot-by-rocket count' to one."

Garrus coughed. "Sorry, ignorant turian here," he felt he'd been pulling this line a little too much for his liking. "When has any place on Earth been a DMZ?"

"The place is run by mafia—gangs, basically. It's been abandoned since the eezo explosion there and crooks of all kinds have taken over it." Alenko rubbed the bridge of his nose. Cely moved a little closer to the bed. "And it's been abandoned by the Alliance, mostly as a bone to appease the gangs. And that's only half the city.

"The other half is run by settlements of lesser gangs—and, turians."

"Turians?" Garrus's voiced rose. "Sorry, I'm pretty well-informed about our politics. But I haven't heard of any turians settling on Earth. It may be a garden world but it's not the fittest place for vegetation and livestock fit for dextro."

"It's part of the reason why New York is a DMZ, actually. Vets from the First Contact War have settled there. Made a home at the detriment of all the humans who are trying to survive. There's a lot of crazy anti-alien propaganda on nearly every street corner, in fact." Shepard replied. "It's not known to most people—hell, if you ask anyone on this ship they'd probably be very confused. But New York DMZ isn't what it was in the 20th century. It's not even on any of the maps kids learn at school. People on Earth that aren't high up the military or haven't come from there all think it's just a giant crater Alliance have blockaded."

"And that's the thing, Shepard. How are you going to get out of there once you get in? If you even get in."

Shepard shrugged at Alenko's question. "Bribery mostly. There's also threats of murder. Mixed in with real murder." She smiled at Alenko's glare. "I have some fail safes in place if I don't report in after a certain amount of time. Besides, travelling alone will make the retrieval faster."

Alenko shook his head. "In Omega you were someone of fear and repute—"

"Should I ask how you came to know about my time in Omega?"

Alenko waved off her comment with his hand. Garrus cleared his throat. "Don't worry. I don't know anything in extravagant detail. But what I do know is that people were afraid to even look at you wrong. But in New York—all it'll take is for some asshole to have a bad day or one person to see you and—"

"I've been to worse places, completely without escort. If anything, the escort would just draw too much attention to myself."

Alenko looked like he really wanted to believe her. To be fair, Garrus knew that Shepard could kick ass and take names. But Shepard had also been going to too many dangerous places alone for too long. Wasn't she tired of just having the whole world on her shoulders?

She didn't look tired though. Her eyes were shining. She'd put on some muscle since he last left her on Palaven and she looked even more dangerous than she did the first time they met in Flux those two years ago. Shepard had more to her than met the eye and even when she wasn't in her 'fittest' she still really kicked ass and kicked hard.

But Garrus thought about the slim possibility of losing her again—to some thug with too much money and big guns or to a skilled assassin. And his stomach dipped impossibly low and he wanted to puke.

Garrus looked up to find that Alenko had his gaze fixed on him. He wasn't sure how long—but the Commander sat there without blinking. There was a really strange shimmer in his gaze. Garrus blinked. "You all right, Commander?"

Alenko nodded, his small smile widened. He turned to Shepard who glared. "Shepard, I have an idea."

She sighed. "Why do I feel like I don't really want to hear it?"

"Well, you said you didn't want to travel with a group but what about a partner?" Alenko's smile got even wider. "At least, I can get my peace of mind and you can have someone who can watch your back."

"And just who do you have in mind?" Shepard's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you—"

"I am not going to be leaving this cabin any time soon. Not even if I wanted to." He motioned at Cely who smiled too sweetly at him. "And I know I need to prioritize my own recovery. I'm not—always as functional as I am now. But I can get better."

"If it's not you, Commander then who—" Three pairs of eyes trained towards Garrus. Shepard was the first to snap back at the Commander. "Alenko, he's commandeering your ship. He can't leave! He's the only person you can probably trust in this whole—"

"Which is why I'm going to loan him to you." Alenko nodded. "He's one of the only people you and I both trust. He's a good shot. And I know he'll take care of you." He looked at Garrus, straight at him with a smile that was all teeth. "Isn't that right, Garrus?"

"Um."

Shepard's sigh was loud. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against her chair and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I think I know what's going on."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Shepard." Alenko's chuckle was all levels of mocking and impudent. "But I do know that there isn't anyone more suitable to help you. Besides, the fact that he's turian will aid you somehow."

"Right." Her tone was flat. Turning to Garrus, she looked at him with question—chin tucked against her collarbone. She twirled the chain of her necklace with a gloved finger. "What do you say, Garrus?"

"I—huh?"

Did she just agree?

Why did she agree to this so quickly? She usually balked at the idea of not working alone. She always did when they were in Omega. Even if she had a partner, that damn Mad, while she was at Renaudi and she worked with General Victus—she was only pushed to do so because of the situation.

But now, it wasn't imperative. Not in the least. Shepard could take care of herself. There was no reason to agree so quickly. So why?

"You don't have to worry about the mission for the next—week?"

"We should be done in five, GS. At most." Shepard shrugged. "I plan to board a pedestrian vessel, but a little higher class one. Otherwise, it'll take too long. We still need to ride from Britain via shuttle. Anything larger than a Kodiak flying to New York usually gets shot down."

The Commander nodded, eyes steely. "I'll give you a week. Just a little allowance." He turned to Garrus. "I'd rather go myself, you know? But you'll be doing me a service, Garrus. Well?"

Garrus wanted to say the galaxy—the human colonies, especially—may not have a week. Alenko said so just days ago, right before he threatened to end his own life because he didn't think he was being competent enough. But that was Garrus being selfish and unfair—to Alenko, most especially. No one really knew how long any of them had.

But still—he couldn't just leave the Normandy. Maybe a year ago, some other Garrus with his team of twelve may have had jumped at the opportunity to leave his squad for a bit to go with the mysterious Shepard on a short adventure. They'd come back from it—closer, happier—to the twelve who would be waiting for them.

No one was waiting now.

He knew that he was a Captain of convenience—Lawson could easily fill his shoes so long as TIM ordered it. Seven days wasn't an allowance—it was a time limit. The reach of Kaidan Alenko's influence—the full stretch. That's how long he could keep the Normandy docked at Ilium before they'd be left behind.

It was a pittance. And Garrus couldn't afford to take it—even if he wanted to, even if he really, really wanted to. Even if there was no one waiting at the other end of trip.

"I—" He started and stopped again. Looking down, he clicked his mandibles together twice.

"Come on, Garrus." Shepard leaned forward, head tilted to the side with a smile so sly he didn't need to be human to understand it. "Since when did you become a good turian?"

It was a provocation if he ever heard one and he almost rose to it.

He'd played way too many games with Shepard to not know she was toying with him. But why? Reverse psychology, maybe? Or, did she genuinely want him to come along but needed to hide behind some kind of lie to not seem like she didn't want him to go?

Garrus felt the cold from his fingers when he balled his hands into fists. He studied her face, the tilt of her smile and her glinting, green eyes. Her body tilted forward as she sat, unshaken. What did they all mean put together?

Garrus huffed. "When do we leave?"

He still didn't know what it all meant. But the smile he put on Alenko's face made him smile back. And when he turned to look at Shepard, he could almost say that he could interpret her glowing eyes as silent approval.


	63. Interlude IX- Fly Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, a peek at what lies in store for our couple in NY-DMZ. Enjoy!

08\. 06. 2185

_**Re:re:re: Notice me you** _

_Hey._

_Just checking in. Seeing if you're all right. I haven't heard from you in a while and the dark side of my cowl itches at the fact that I haven't been bothered—of course, it's at a place I can't reach. Some fancy maneuvering and the nozzle of a shotgun did the trick but I don't feel less dirty for it._

_Write back, kid. I've been hearing a lot of shit I'm not happy about and it would be nice if you weren't happy with me. He he._

_-Wrex_

* * *

Tali'Zorah vas Neema had encountered it in her research: Earth was the least popular place for Pilgrimage. And New York DMZ was recorded (albeit, in data caches not meant for all and sundry) as one of the most dangerous cities for anyone who wasn't either well-connected or ridiculously wealthy.

So, when she signed the documents for her vacation leave—that was where she said she wanted to go.

Of course, she wasn't a complete fool. When she boarded the civilian transport starting from the Citadel to Earth, then a rickety shuttle from Mexico to New York DMZ, she had heard marvelously gloomy things about New York but what stood out most of all was the existence of a Turian hub known as a "Cipritine Town" or Cip Town, according to the locals. It emerged around the same time as the Relay 314 Incident was being wrapped up—these people were prisoners of war that chose to stay—for their own reasons. Tali didn't really understand why they would choose to stay on Earth—they couldn't grow their own food despite the sizable territory and they were surrounded by smog and strangers. As far as her research went, anyone with colony paint on and the right documents could return to their colonies.

Ironically, Cip Town was the safest place in the city that hadn't been dragged down by the extreme polarity between the rich and the poor in the later half of the 21st century. Turian efficiency and spirit kept Cip Town safe from New York's high crime rate—it was all a big question why there would be such a population of turians in Earth, New York least of all.

Not that Tali was welcomed in the town. Where the little human street urchins seemed to shadow her and giggle from behind their dirty street corners and overly large-sized dumpsters. Older humans treated her as one would treat any stranger—with caution. However, the turians openly sneered at her. Sometimes, the clicking from their sub-vocals were so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts while she waited for the vac-rations, the only stuff that was sterilized enough for her to eat, to be served to her.

The first seven places she had bid for lodging also denied her. One even didn't let enter the door. She should have known, however — the Citadel wasn't very different. But the turians who lived here seemed even more paranoid and reclusive than the ones there—perhaps, the seclusion from their true home world and being surrounded by enemies did that. The only places that didn't deny her entrance were the pubs—particularly, the seedier ones at the borders near the human slum. Those places allowed her to practically bunk in as long as she paid for canisters of sterilized vac-booze. The Admiralty Board had given her enough credits to spend for a week or so—and if things got dire, she still had a lot of credits left over from being on the Normandy two years ago.

She was in an odd place at an odd time. She wasn't surprised everyone thought she was suspicious.

That didn't mean she was going to let them take her stuff though.

* * *

Let's start at the beginning.

Tali'Zorah had nothing in her system for the past four days but really, really bad turian beer and canned vac-liver things. Frankly, a suit puncture felt better than what she was going through right now. She'd seen these three turians hanging around before—eying her in her secluded little space (she paid the owner a lot of damn credits for her little space, thank you).

When they started putting her mods in their packs and no one even flinched—Tali turned bleary eyed at the owner who was turned the other way. They worked through her things silently and efficiently—it was probably the most boring robbery on Earth, happening in real time with her own stuff. They didn't speak to her, or even call her a dirty vagrant. Or anything. Garrus had so much more wit compared to these bozos and he didn't even have to steal her stuff to try to hurt her (back then anyway, Garrus had become less of a _bosh'tet_ over time, good for him).

When one of them took her pistol—the pistol she modded a hundred times over that it practically sang rather than farted like that crappy Carnifex out in markets now. The pistol Commander Alenko gave her, right before they made their run on the Battle of the Citadel. The same pistol that got her out of the shitstorm of geth as she grabbed on to Kal'Reegar's hand—blood leaking out of his suit as he yelled for the shuttle to fly, fly, fly out of Haestrom.

She pulled out the shotgun—two hands to support that kick, finger on the trigger when her shot was sure— just like Wrex had taught her. Tali'Zorah stood straighter since Haestrom and since the order to go on this damn vacation—

" _Bosh-tets_."

She took the heads off the two closest turians. Their shields didn't stand a chance at such a distance. Grabbing her pistol, it was locked and loaded—two bullets shattered his shields and one bullet sank into the third thief's face plates.

In the end, Tali ran into the night—somewhat thankful the turians had thought to pack all her stuff for a quick escape.

* * *

Tali'Zorah took everything back now about not being stupid.

She should have known that thieves had guilds—ironic considering, the entire galaxy thought the quarians were thieves. If she had lived up to the stereotype (and wasn't loaded with alcohol), maybe she could have ran faster than she did.

The group of turians, dressed in grey and red fatigues chased her out of Cip-town and deeper into human territory. New York was just as she had thought it would be—living in the eastern side, there was nothing but pre-fabs and half-ruined buildings. There were gates, chewed on by rust and wear that dated as far back as the 20th century. It took a train shuttle over a large wall, extended by mass effect barriers to reach the west side which held the ritzy hotels and the swanky glittering short-skirt styles barely seen in Council Space. Cip town was at least situated closer to the border—but now she was running deeper east.

They stopped following her at a certain point but now the lights from Cip Town were fading and apparently, the rest of east side barely had any light to show for itself—even from any windows of supposedly inhabited pre-fabs.

She ended up in an odd street—empty, save for the dust that she kicked up as she walked—but walled up by tall, old buildings. There was debris and broken glass from fallen skyscrapers around her and a hell lot of things she could trip over if she hadn't activated the light on her omni-tool and fired up Chatika vas Paus for recon further down the dark road.

Her eyes scanned past faded graffiti, piles of rubble, and a corpse—

Wait, what?

Chatika fired at something in the darkness, about 80 meters or so away from Tali's current place, but even her drone's light was snuffed out as shots were fired back. She barely heard footsteps but there were lights from the mass effect emissions of guns, and loud, blaring gunfire from further down the road. From one of the windows of a higher building up front, she saw the laser from a stationed sniper. Immediately, she killed her own light and scampered and rolled to the nearest cover she could find. Her little hiding place also covered about three more bodies—bodies of children. Tali reached for her chest, heart thumping so loudly against her ears that she almost didn't hear what happened next.

Fire was a primitive offensive weapon. Sure, it was effective but flamethrowers only reached so far. Also, for some superior weapons, fire was an after effect—extra damage to already devastating destruction—rocket launchers, grenades, and other weapons of their likeness. Not to mention, fire was used mostly by vorcha, and _keelah_ , there was probably nothing more degrading to be compared to them.

But a flamethrower large enough that its roar echoed all around her, through the acoustics of the dust road—the fire lit the body of the salvaged Mako it was attached to ( _keelah_ , the _bosh'tet_ was mobile—now a flaming combat cockroach) and all those who came close enough had their shields burned right through and their bodies lit. Bullets ricocheted off it and hit stray people and armed men alike. The flamethrower stopped—probably to recharge—but the gunfire and screams continued.

Human torches ran her way with a litany of agonized pleas. Right before they fell onto their knees, burning pilgrims, with wide eyes and hope turned to ash.

_Keelah_ , she thought, _keelah_ she walked into hell and she needed to escape. If Kal'Reegar's hand, with his arm doused in his own blood as he used all his strength to pull her into the shuttle and he signaled the pilot to fly, fly, fly—if he could do that to save her wretched life—

Tali got up. Feeling sicker than when she was drunk just an hour ago, she needed to get off the street and somewhere safe before anyone saw her or anything happened to her.

The fire blazed once more and bullets bounced off the Mako's armor as she climbed into the window of an empty building to crawl out the window to the other side. Climbing a mountain of rubble, it was only then that she realized that the protective gel of her suit was struggling to seal up a suit puncture on her right leg and she was limping—trailing near black blood against the dust of asphalt and stone before she fell from the height of a few meters, into what was the skeleton of a building and a bed of rubble.


	64. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will be very surprised if I don't receive some kind of reaction to this chapter. Like, really surprised.
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> Edit: Sorry for forgetting to name the chapter. This is Chapter 54. I have skipped nothing. Boo, Ao3, for this oversight that if you don't name the chapter it goes for the default chapter number. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused and thank you Lurker for pointing this out to me! I would have never noticed otherwise.

**Chapter 54**

There was no place on Earth quite like New York. Shepard might land in places that would rather put a bullet through her head than stand the sight of her or places so desolate you'd think death's incarnate had dragged his entourage through the streets. But New York was all about the game—the complexity, the snare, the dirty little secrets. The DMZ herself was one of the Alliance's dirtiest secrets, and no one landed on her asphalt without leaving with some kind of scar.

Not even someone as sweet as Nalah could have cut all the tangles of her past and everything that tied her to the wretched city. Her last stand on Omega was evident in the scorched body she left behind—she never did let go of the survivor that she became because of New York. Not even till the end.

Nonetheless, Eastside New York had been Shepard's home—where she met Lor and where he had groomed her. There, he had been her father, her mentor, sometimes friend and when he had left her there, she had never thought that she would even think of coming back. Not for any reason.

Now, on the journey homebound—she never expected Garrus Vakarian to be keeping her company. Especially since said Vakarian was doing his level best to not talk to her or look at her. Or anything.

When she dropped her duffel bag next to the lumpy looking bed, the dust rose from it and scattered. Turning back, she spotted Garrus looking at the tiny living space the same way a cat might when it first entered a house it was unfamiliar with.

"We'll stay for the night." Her voice was calm, thankfully. "You don't want to be wandering outside of Cip-town when it gets dark." She turned away from him to pull off her jacket. She reached out for the lamp and the tiny, yellow flicker of light barely lit the space. She grunted, flinging her jacket at the couch—that also provoked an army of dust to rise up from its rest.

It was only when she put her pistol on her bedside table and tucked her sword under her pillow that she noticed that Garrus hadn't moved from his spot by the door.

She turned to face him, head tilting to the side. She followed his gaze and it led to her right arm—where the red scars were. Fully exposed now from shoulder to wrist. It was probably going to take a while for that to fully heal. Aside from her head, this was the next most complicated surgery, her shoulder especially had sustained a number of injuries without going through proper treatment and physical therapy. Now, however, it felt as good as new. It just looked like a bloody mangled mess. She hadn't shown it to anyone outside the doctors back in Vakarian Villa.

"Hey."

Garrus practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice. Clearing his throat, he walked up to the other bed— turian built to accommodate the carapace. When he dropped his own bag and provoked a similar cloud of dust, his face plates did that weird expansion thing that she learned meant he was appalled.

When he finally looked her in the eye, the first time he did since they took the luxury cruiser to Earth and then the shuttle to NY dock—she had to tell herself not to be nervous because his damned visor could probably see through her soul.

"You okay?"

He switched on his own lamp and looked just as displeased by it as she was with her own. He acted like he didn't hear her.

She shrugged.

His bed looked a million times more comfortable than hers. At the very least, it seemed a lot more pressed and clean and when Garrus sat, scarred side of his face not privy to her, he actually sighed in satisfaction. She reached for the lumpy comforter of her own bed and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor—she growled as she pressed her nose against the covers and she was sure that the last time the bed hit the laundry was probably before they decided to slaughter an animal on it.

She put her sword aside first and began pulling off every layer until she was left with naked pillows and a naked bed that smelled—she didn't want to describe what it smelled like but the floor was plenty preferable. Dust and all.

"Uh, are— all right?"

Shepard huffed, pulling the two couches together. They looked like they were built for a turian judging by the back rest and by how fitted it was since they had such narrow hips—but she fit enough to sit and she sighed, putting her feet up. It was dusty but at least it didn't smell.

"Alright with speaking with me now, Garrus?" The armrests were high and she felt funny when she put them there so she opted to fold her hands on her lap. "Not trying to ignore me now?"

"I wasn't—" He clicked his mandible together. Some parts of it sounded garbled. "I didn't—" He stammered. Just a moment before he had his feet up and ankles locked. Now, he was half off the bed, ready to jump. "You were talking to me?"

She blinked at him, slowly.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Sor— Honest. I didn't—I couldn't hear you at all. I was looking aro—damn, it's not imprr—tant ."

She laughed. Albeit, rudely enough that it got Garrus to stand up and move towards her. Maybe he thought she was hurt.

"God." She pulled out her omni-tool and checked all the functions—the last one, the universal translator, read that it had a malfunction. Rolling her eyes, she looked through a few functions and then restarted the omni-tool. When she was done, she looked him in the eye again and didn't bother to hide how fast her heart was beating and nor how the blood was rushing to her face.

"Can you hear me now? Can you understand?"

Garrus blinked several times. "Yeah. What happened?"

"I'm going to kill Alenko the next time I see him." She looked down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. He must have done some tweaking while they were talking. Alenko wasn't mentally stable at the moment but he was still _The_ Commander. And a twat. "I'm sorry, Garrus."

Now his face plates shifted closer around the mandibles. "For what?"

"For being an ass because I thought you were being—I don't know." She huffed. "No wonder the receptionist downstairs was looking at me funny. I thought it was just the usual racism."

Garrus sat back down on his own bed, shoulders sagging in relief as he chuckled. "It's all right." He cleared his throat. "Also, the receptionist _was_ being very racist. Probably wouldn't have replied to you even if you had a working translator."

Shepard nodded, smiling. She didn't mean to but she also couldn't help herself. "Thanks for stepping in though."

"Anytime, Shepard."

She thought they would sink into a comfortable silence.

As expected, when it came to things like this she was pants at predicting the outcome. The silence was far from comfortable. It was like both of them were waiting for a bomb to explode—and though one of them could have easily diffused it, both them waited on the other to offer first.

"Shep—"

"Gar—"

They started and stopped at the same time. Garrus's mandibles snapped shut. Shepard pressed her lips tightly together.

Damn, she thought. Why was this so much easier through audio comm?

That's when Garrus laughed, leaning back against the headrest with the back of his hand against his forehead. The scars from one side of his face and neck hidden from her again. "Spirits," he said as a curse but it was full of irony and mirth. "We are horrible at communicating."

She leaned back against the backrest as well. "Not always," she smiled. "At least not when we're in a firefight."

"We can't always be chased around by bad guys if we want to iron out our issues."

Shepard chuckled. "I dunno, Garrus. We are in a DMZ."

"Hah. Don't get any ideas." His breath was a little raspy from the laughing. "I don't know if I can get used to the amount of humidity here. I might not be able to catch my breath fast enough if we have to run anywhere and talk at the same time."

She rolled her eyes. "You sound like an old man."

He laughed at that and then things got quiet again. Shepard reached back to scratch the back of her head, felt the scar from the wound she'd sustained in the lab on Impera—protruding like a worm under her skin. She knew the pain there was phantom but sometimes she can still remember how everything rattled and faded around her as the pain blossomed and she was lifted and slammed, lifted and slammed—

The hand on her shoulder was familiar— odd, since she knew she flinched every time Garrus had the courage to reach out and touch her. Still, it seemed to fit there—three talons and a warm grip. That very same hand, according to General Victus, shot down the Brute and used her own sword against it, for good measure. When she opened her eyes and looked up, she saw his blue eyes, visor gone, yet she still felt that her soul was being read.

"Are you with me, Shepard?"

She nodded once. "I dozed off a little there. Sorry."

He shifted on the other orange couch—hips narrow enough that it fit there despite the fact that she had one foot resting there already. Garrus Vakarian—for the first time in the day and a half that they finally met face-to-face, was close enough to her that she could clearly see the half healed scars leaking out of the bandage and the scorch marks left on his cracked armor.

Most of what she knew—about Garrus's last stand— was second hand from Erash and Mordin. Because she had been lightyears too far and too slow, Garrus got a rocket to the face. It was supposed to be fatal—if not from the huge chunk it took out of him then from the trauma of blood loss.

That day took more out of him than the blood and flesh that was shed, but both of them were made of sterner stuff than that. Somehow, they made it out of their own hells and ended up here.

It didn't stop her from being terrified—even when she wanted to be brave, even as she reached up and held the bandaged side of his face with her gloved hand. She was shaking, and just so fucking terrified.

"You know how much someone can hurt you, especially if you love them." Lor's large eyes glowed fiercely in the darkness that day when he said that. His own hands were bare and scarred and mangled by his own destiny, with stories written there beyond even the League or the Legion. "Especially if you let them."

Garrus's hand hovered above her own then, just an inch from his own face. His eyes were wide and an impossibly bright blue. Without speaking, he managed to ask for her permission. And finally, without thinking of the consequences, she let him with a nod of her head.

When he held her hand in his—nothing happened. The silence was still there, stark and thirsty. They sat in front of each other at a distance near enough that Shepard could smell the iron and the gun oil from Garrus.

"I'm sorry." She said so clearly, no translator could have screwed that up for her. The worry on Garrus's face was clear as day until their gazes locked. She didn't want him to misunderstand as her eyes roved from his eyes, to his bandage, to his armor and back again. When she tightened the hold she had on his jaw, something flickered in his gaze—a dark fire that was put there by Sidonis. A fire that she was sure was mirrored in her own eyes when it was put there by Lor who turned and left her. Because she was sorry, for everything awful that had happened to them up till this moment and for the weight on his shoulders now because no one else could possibly take Alenko's place.

"I'm sorry, Garrus." She said again, as she bowed her head a moment before she looked up at him and put a smile on her face she could actually feel. No smoke or mirrors; she tucked away all the lessons she learned in trickery and power leaving only conviction and truth in her voice.

"I love you."


	65. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to all!

**Chapter 55**

She expected nothing, she told him. Shepard just wanted to finally say it, out loud, because she had kept it all in the cup of her hands for so long like water and it was draining through all the tiny cracks in her guard.

How long? He wanted to ask. Since when? How come you never told me? Were you telling me the truth? How come you never really showed it? Why now? Why now?

The sun was up before Garrus Vakarian knew it, but he hadn't gotten a wink of rest. Sure, he slept and his eyes were closed the entire night cycle but all his bones felt heavy and his right eye twitched under the light of his visor. He wasn't even sure what the receptionist was telling him when he handed her his credit chit and neither did he notice how Shepard naturally took point when he stepped out of the motel, the ground uneven and broken beneath them.

"Stay close." Shepard said as she flicked him a smile over her shoulder and they squeezed through makeshift street stalls and prefabs of all kinds. Every once in a while they'd pass an establishment that was an actual building but otherwise, they were walking under grey and brown cloth as they dodged through the place.

Garrus had no intention of straying. New York, east side, was worse than he imagined. Shepard had already told him this. Cip-town, was the most organized sector in the entire zone; it was so different from the other side of the high wall, from the train station they came from. West side NY looked more like Nos Astra, though a darker beat thrummed through it as they passed through its arteries. There were five trains every hour that went from West to East so their wait at the station hadn't been that long and they made it to the motel within a solar day.

Compared to the number of trains from East to West, from what Garrus saw as they disembarked just a day ago, they'd be lucky to have a single train leave at least once a week.

Cip-town was a melting pot for all kinds of turians—most of them, of the unsavory sort. Going by their facial tattoos, a lot of them were the children or grandchildren of soldiers or war vets, but the fact that they decided to stay in a place like NY DMZ spoke volumes—their value in the Hierarchy had probably been reduced to nothing. No one even talked about the existence of a place like this in the history books back home. There could be a lot of reasons, but those reasons couldn't be good enough to make a place so lacking in rigorous discipline and stuffed full of overwhelming selfishness, and yet still call it Cip-town, after the most Hierarchical city in all of turian space.

Cip-town was, all at once, amazing and sacrilegious. It also smelled vaguely like turian bile.

"You hungry?" Shepard stopped their trek and pointed at a bar to her right with a tilt of her head. As she spun to meet his gaze, he couldn't help watching the way her hair moved when she did and how the sword strapped to her waist, hanging behind her, chinked in its sheath. "You could grab a quick bite before we leave Cip-Town."

"And you won't be going with me?"

"You want me to go into an establishment full of xenophobic turians with only one exit and probably no levo food to speak of?" She placed her left hand on her hip and pointed at a stall behind her with her right thumb. "There's a little asari stall selling street food. I think I'd rather take my chances there."

"Don't you think I'll look a little sad? Eating my food there, all alone."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Uh huh. I'll meet you out here."

"So cruel, Shepard." He called after her with a little chuckle in his voice as she started walking towards the stall.

When he took a seat at the table he wanted to bang his forehead against the table. Spirits, why was it so easy to slip back into banter with the woman? She practically just put her heart on her sleeve, for the first time ever, that night. And the next morning, she didn't seem all that sheepish or embarrassed by it at all. She knew exactly where she stood in their dance but where the hell was Garrus?

(He practically tore the meat of the fried Garelle leg, munching with so much vengeance that someone from two tables down stared at him slack jawed, mandible practically hitting the ground.)

Garrus liked Shepard, more than friendship could offer. That was sure. He was sure. If he was going to try this with anyone that wasn't turian then it was with her. But—dammit, he couldn't really call it love, could he? He wasn't absolutely sure what the hell it was. What was he going to tell her? Wait for him to figure it out? If he said that, then what, she'd waste her time and he might never answer her feelings. He didn't want to waste her time. He also didn't want her to end up with someone else, for her to change her mind—and that was him being selfish and stupid, because he had no right to hold her to him when he was a mess.

Spirits, this was him being a teenager all over again. Except it was much worse because he couldn't blame it on the hormones or the urges, or just on being dumb because what the hell did Garrus know back then, right?

He left Shepard for about 25 minutes, give or take, since the line to the restroom was long and the restroom itself needed to be hosed down. But when he was done and his meal was paid for, he played with the idea that maybe Shepard had gotten distracted and left him there.

He sped up his pace to the entrance, eyes roving through the crowd as sunlight hit his eyes. His visor looked through the biometrics of many people before he found her, just where she said she would be, with a plastic cup of something in her hand, looking up at a turian with silver-blue face paint near his fringe—three lines growing shorter so that it looked like an arrow. He had green and grey light armor on, and his eyes were steady as he looked at Shepard.

"Tell Quarn, Robin owes him." She said while lifting her cup to him. "I apologize too if the request was last minute. The idea also came to me a little late."

"Hey, you know how much we love you, Robin." The turian in green chuckled. "I'll let him know you actually forgot about him." He wasn't from Cipritine judging by his accent, but he was still from a city in Palaven by the color and placing of his markings—maybe Renaudi?

"Ugh." Shepard threw the cup into the waste can. "Four years is enough time to forget what a drama queen he can be. Please, spare me." Garrus wasn't sure if something in his step gave him away but Shepard motioned at him without even looking and suddenly he felt embarrassed for eavesdropping. "Garrus, I want to introduce you to someone—this is Renti Surlo. He's an associate of a good friend of mine—his crow, so to speak. He's our insider as well. Ren, this is Garrus Vakarian a good friend of mine."

They held each other's wrists briefly. "Any friend of Robin's is a friend of mine, Vakarian." There was such a warm and friendly rumble to his subharmonics that Garrus was almost embarrassed for suspecting him of anything. "I'm the eyes and ears—the crow, as Robin said—to our common associate." His mandible fluttered when he looked at Shepard and there was something mischievous and secret about the look they shared. "If you two would follow me—we should start talking business as soon as possible."

* * *

Renti led them to an abandoned apartment, a whole thirty minute trek from where they stood. They took the longest way possible, just in case anyone was tracking their movements. Renti also seemed to know that Shepard being in a place like this was as dangerous as any of them walking into geth space without a gun. With sure and silent understanding, they kept her between the two of them the entire time. The woman in question tried her best not to comment on it or look upset about it—even when she mumbled something about how much attention they were drawing to her.

Judging by the façade of the apartment, there was supposed to be a whole line of them—varying in color but not in size. By then though, this apartment was the only one left standing while the others had crumbled and withered away. It was 20th century style architecture, Shepard commented. That was how much (or in this case, how little) progress east side NY made in about 200 years compared to everywhere else on Earth.

"This way." Renti led them inside, his biometrics opened the lock on the door as his omni-tool flared alive when he touched the door knob. That got a little jump out of Garrus and Shepard looked back to smirk at him.

"You thought it was just a rundown apartment we could punch through, huh?"

Garrus cleared his throat. "You'd think the same thing in my place."

"Uh huh."

The inside was just as rundown and old as the outside, but the lock on the door snapped shut instantly the moment the door closed and a VI floated towards them, scanning them and confirming their ID's.

"It's programmed to let you guys in now." Renti nodded. "Otherwise, the security installed would have tried to attack you. Mechs would rain down from the stairs and tripwires would engage if you walked into certain thresholds." He led them a little deeper into the house and into a kitchenette—the place was simple but cleaner, less cobwebs and the smell of musk was toned down. He motioned for them to sit at the small round table, just big enough for four people. Garrus was glad two were made for turians to sit on. Even the Normandy didn't have that simple luxury. "Ready for the briefing?"

"Aye." Shepard sat as well, leaning forward when Renti activated the holo with the map of east side. A moment of looking at it and she nodded. "Looks about the same since I left, I'm not surprised. Who's on top now? How far do their territories stretch?"

Renti pressed a few more buttons on his omni-tool and the map lit up with all sorts of colors staining its own zone. There were, however, obviously four main colors with the largest perimeter. "The blue side is where we are—just about as neutral as you can get out here. Cip-town, no matter how bad, won't be killing humans on its grounds. Hurting and maiming them though, maybe." He pointed at the yellow zone. "North east from here is mostly Cruiser territory. The gang is run by Enzo Crane—one of the lesser sons of the Crane family in the west side. Rumor is he's using east side as his playground to win respect and move his position higher in his grandfather's mob."

Renti pointed at the green side surrounded by speckles of violet, white, and orange. "South is covered most diversely—the green is the Switches. They're actually a gang of mostly smugglers, they don't normally have enough firepower compared with the other gangs but they've made alliances with smaller groups in exchange for drugs, illegal tech, and guns. Basically, their defense and offence is mostly outsourced." He enlarged the red portion of the map. "Since you want to get here," he pointed at a spot in the street called "29th Street" sandwiched between all the red and green. "Directly east is Tenth Street Red's. But there's been a feud between Crane and Reds, lots of contested bases between them—control has been the aim of the game."

"Tenth, huh?" The sound Shepard made was somewhere between a snort and harrumph. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her seat. "How's their chain of command now?"

"Still a triumvirate but under new management: you got Slots handling the Runners, Jason Keegan on the armed thugs, and Hana Sakamoto for everything in between." He pointed at the spot again. "Your spot is prime lot, actually. But there's been talks between the lawyers of every gang; the lot has an owner as legitimate as this place can get. No one really knows how, but even Crane's been sitting on his heels trying to find some loophole to be able to swoop down and take it."

Shepard did that strange sound again. "Try all they want. The people here are not even going to go near the place."

"Why not?" Garrus spoke up this time. "Isn't the building empty? Also, these are a bunch of thugs and gangs—when did they start caring about the rules?"

"The lot is listed under a lot of shareholder names." Shepard's eyes glinted under the blue light of the holo map. "On the management angle, it could cost them their standing in east side—especially if those people have a lot of money. Second, even if they decide they're not afraid of money," she smiled and her teeth looked sharp. "Its reputation scares off anyone who's been around long enough."

"What reputation?"

"People think it's haunted." Renti answered. "And the spirit that resides in there is vengeful. Even if humans don't believe it—well, suggestion is a powerful tool. A whole ritual between the children even started up from it. Test of courage or something."

"I did detail those instructions rather well." Shepard's gaze was distant, leaning forward with her elbow against the table. "There are steps added, nowadays, but I believe I made a good foundation."

"Spirits," Garrus said that both fondly and as a curse. "How were you able to keep up the lie?"

"A few articles and data caches posted here and there. A rumor whispered when need be." She locked eyes with him and Garrus's heart almost gave out at how absolutely amused she looked. How someone could look so good and yet be so evil didn't make much sense. "But mostly a VI that was designed to keep those rumors up. Harmless pink holo-ed VI named Little Ben. His batteries were meant to last at least 50 years too. But a harmless story was the best way to keep people away rather than armed forces."

Renti snorted. "In NY, that's more like an invitation."

"Exactly." She nodded. "So, what's the Intel telling us about routes, Ren? I want a contingency for your contingency as well."

Renti's omni-tool glowed orange as he brought it up. "Already sending it to your omni-tools. Let's go over the plans."

* * *

The briefing ended in record time, all snipped up and rudimentary. Shepard called for a twenty minute recess and then they would, apparently, dive right into the underground passageway beneath the wrecked up dwelling they were in and end up about 6 clicks away from their waypoint. Only she and Garrus would be going, Renti was to stay and be patient for the next 40 hours, GS-standard—to guard their exit route, so to speak.

Apparently, it was hard to get outside of Cip-town without incurring some sort of toll. It was even harder to get in from deeper east—a higher toll and deep-seated animosity and xenophobia did that. Even if someone from the terminal from westside was more likely to have contraband.

"A perimeter about two clicks wide separates Cip-town from the rest. Any foot that touches that perimeter pays toll. The only time Cip-town doesn't have toll for the east gate is at night." Renti offered for Garrus's sake, Shepard obviously knew this. "The gate is wide open at night."

Garrus crossed his arms. "That's odd. Shouldn't they tighten security at night?"

Renti's chuckle chilled him to the bone. "Believe me, Vakarian. Anyone with a brain would not leave a building at sun down in the east side. And no one in Cip-town would want to leave it for deep east, not at night." Garrus just became more confused. "I think it would be better for you to see it for yourself than for me to explain. But long story short: east side is fucking terrifying at night."

"Hey." Shepard caught his attention in the present and he turned. They were alone in the kitchenette while Renti made preparations elsewhere. She threw him a pack and he caught it with deft hands. The pack she threw him wasn't cheap stuff either — combat worthy. "Rations. Good for a week if you're planning to be conservative. It's got a med pack in there and some survival gear. Also, on the off chance we get separated and the comms get jammed, a flare." She nodded at his wide eyed look. "Don't use it at night. Shit and spirits might not save you if the whole damn city knew where you were. If night hits, find a shelter and don't turn on any damn lights in a place with holes or windows and wait for day time."

"Yes, mom."

She smirked at him but still punched his arm. "I'm serious, Garrus. Serious shit goes down here."

"I've wrestled husks, shot down Rachni, short-circuited Geth, and chased down a rogue Spectre through an ancient, untested, relay in that damn Mako. I've also lived in Omega for nearly two years, killing and shooting down criminals. And survived a rocket to the face." He crossed his arms when her right eyebrow arched high. "I think I know when something is dangerous and I can tell you meant serious business when you said it was would be easier to traverse this alone." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, for what that's worth, for the Commander's insistence."

She huffed, left hand on her hip as she looked down briefly. "It's all right. I conceded to the compromise. Besides, we get to spend the next few days together in relative silence with splashes of wit on my end and shots fired, literally, on yours while hell happens all around us." She smiled. "Call it my ulterior motive but I thought it would be just like old times."

It _would_ be just like old times. And yet not really. Archangel and Legacy were gone, outer shells cast aside. The team wasn't whole anymore. There was no diner to have their usual talks. No HQ to polish their weapons and talk shop. But it was the two of them, present and alive, battle banter ready with guns oiled and loaded.

Garrus thought, in spite of all the messed up shit that happened then and in between—the now was good. And maybe the future, even better.

"Shepard," he grabbed her wrist right when she excused herself to leave. When he pulled her closer to him, her eyes were bright and green. Even though she was tall for a human female, she still came up short, just enough for her to rest her forehead against his shoulder—just enough for him to put his mandible against her temple and whisper, "Yes."

She quivered in his hold, their bodies barely touching but he can already imagine how soft she would feel against him if he didn't have his armor on. "Garrus, you don't—I don't want to pressure you into this." She moved back enough so that they could see each other's faces but didn't pull her hand away. "We both know that you could probably find someone closer to home and—"

"I don't want someone closer to home." He brought her wrist to the scarred side of his mandible. "I want someone I can trust. I want you. Well?"

It was probably the word trust that threw her off. There was that flicker of doubt in her eyes and the tremors of dread as her hand clenched and unclenched next to his face. She was probably thinking she was the last person next to Sidonis he could probably trust in this whole galaxy. If he were the old Garrus, he would probably think so too. Only he wasn't that guy anymore. That could be a good thing. It could also be the worst thing. But right now, he knew his meeting Shepard, his relationship with her—no matter how upbeat and unconventional—had never been something wrong in his life.

He needed more rights in his life. No matter how short or fleeting this may all be, Shepard fit in his life somehow. And that trust was innate, not something proof and experience taught them, just something he knew in his gizzard. Something Shepard knew too, because she looked at him with that glow in her eyes and she moved a breath closer towards him, her hand against the scars again.

She opened her mouth but pressed it shut again. Though she never averted her gaze, her eyes seemed to trace and study every crack and plate on his face—to look for some sign of falsity, maybe, to look for some weakness.

Spirits, as if he'd let her.

"I know how good I look, Shepard. I've seen how you stare." He said and moved her wrist against his mouth and felt her pulse through the cloth there. "But just say yes."

It was an intimate gesture to do—the wrist was lightly plated for turians and a shake there was a formal gesture, but putting it against another turian's sharp teeth and within the grasp of sharp claws for this long was a sign of trust. Not to mention, she would feel through her wrist the vibrations from his voice, not usually something races outside turian or drell could pick up but she'd feel it course through her, feel the growl and command he placed there and knew that he was serious.

And she did know, because her smile was there even if the fear didn't completely leave her eyes. He'd work on that. He promised her, just weeks ago, that he never wanted her to be afraid of him.

"Yes," She said, finally. And before he could whoop with joy she laughed, covering her mouth with her other hand. "But, damn, there is something wrong with our timing."

He laughed too but held her in place for as long as he could. His arms were around her now and his mandible pressed against her temple as he laughed under his breath when she wrapped her arms around his waist and laughed against his shoulder. It was ridiculous, how happy they both were when in a few minutes they would have to walk into hell.

But at least this time, they would be walking into it together.


	66. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Chinese New Year!

Climbing up through the manhole and into the afternoon light of deep eastside, Shepard preferred the darkness of the sewage system over the bloodied rubble and desolation of eastside. She had seen enough through her window last night to know that the place was as messed up as or worse than before, but stepping back into its pit once again—she felt all at once at home and all at once the full dread of her girlhood.

NY DMZ, apparently, waited for no couple to settle down and be normal.

Shepard looked at Garrus behind her, his senses were probably warning him that this place was as fucked up as it looked. "Stay close and move fast. We have a lot of ground to cover."

Their next destination was some odd 800 meters where hidden transport was made to look like junk, about four clicks away from their actual destination. Not that they weren't able enough to run the distance, but the faster they got to where they needed to be, the more time they would get to be able to avoid the night cycle.

They ducked behind a collapsed building, their feet picking up the dust and bothering the rocks as a Mako—modified to hell com-fucking-bat roach—took point with a 12 man squad marching behind. Judging by the blue and grey uniforms, they were probably from Crane's side of the east. He was most likely to have the money and the fanfare for this kind of shit.

"Are there actual civilians in eastside?" Garrus muttered through their comm link. He had a helmet on and she opted for a visor and a mask—she hated the limited vision, but they all thought keeping their faces hidden was the best thing. "I forgot to ask and it never came up in the briefing."

"There are prefab villages set up around the place," she whispered in reply. "Mostly in campuses like abandoned schools or hospitals—fenced and protected by the militia. Some people stay up high on apartment buildings and keep moving around like us, stragglers with no community mostly. We won't be that odd of a sight."

"But you won't find them—you know, walking around to the grocery or something."

"No. Ironic isn't it," Shepard snorted. "Even Omega could afford that sort of luxury for the people, right? But in the galactic center of humankind you have—well, this."

"And you grew up in this kind of environment?"

"That I did." She watched the armed guard move on but not far enough for it to be safe for them to go. She signaled him with his hand to watch their rear and he moved closer to her to cover her six and have eyes on her blindside. "Do I not seem like the type to grow up in slums, Garrus?"

Even through the comm, there was the audible snap of his mandibles. His signal to tell her the perimeter was clear. "I was just thinking that if this place was as bad as it was, how come you and your—father, spent most of your time training here? Why make NY your base of operations?"

"He never really told me," she answered honestly. Then she made two distinct clicking sounds of her own to signal they would move. They jogged, crossing the road and into an alley where even the sun was blotted out by the high and imposing angles of the old buildings. "But do you want to hear my theory?"

"Shoot."

"He went to earth for the same reason you went to Omega."

The noise Garrus made in response was contemplative, as far as Shepard could tell. But there was probably more beneath his helmet that she couldn't see at the moment.

As they were about to break from cover from the alley and into another narrow street, Garrus grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards him. She hit her nose against his pauldrons and a rowdier squad, eight men strong this time, walked at leisure. They weren't in formation and they had their rifles out and fingers on the trigger—their white armbands with a little black insignia drawn on it obviously meant they were a part of a group but their lack of discipline also meant they weren't worth much in stock.

The miscreants would be troublesome if they caught sight of them and Shepard looked up at Garrus, eyes crinkling as she smiled behind her mask. Curbing the instinct to pull away, she'd done it before with others—Garrus deserved the same, if not more, discipline. "You're getting a little too used to this grabbing and pulling today, Vakarian."

"And you're rushing a little too much through these streets, Shepard." He squeezed her wrist and then slid his hand down to hold hers. "I can tell this place gets to you a little bit."

"I don't want to be out here at night." She squeezed back, controlling the trembling. When the group moved out of their visual, she pulled him to follow and when he moved with her she dropped her grip. They ducked into that alley and Shepard had to curb the urge to kick the empty soup can in front of her as they approached the dumpster. "And we found our ride."

"Please tell me you aren't suggesting we're riding on a dumpster."

She turned to look back at him, eyes laughing. "Aw, come on, big guy. It has wheels."

"Well, it could work if we were going downhill but I don't know what I would hate more—riding this or getting in the Mako with the Commander on the wheel." He shuddered visibly and she actually lifted her hand to her mouth to laugh.

"You're too focused on appearance, Vakarian." She opened up the lid. There was a bang of metal against the concrete wall but nothing else was around. As dirty as the dumpster was from the outside, the inside was squeaky clean and odorless and something bulky and—in her own opinion, a lot of damn fun—was behind a black cloth. "We both know it's what's inside that matters."

It was a good thing Garrus couldn't see because the smile she shot him after she pulled off the cloth was definitely feral.

Hoverbikes. Most cities didn't use them, skycars and shuttles just made more sense in the more thriving metropolises or hostile environments. But hoverbikes were the best way to travel in open fields and rough terrain, without the bulk—especially if you were alone or maybe with another person. They were popular in colonies like Eden Prime (before the geth and Saren mucked everything up) and Kahje because the drell were particularly fond of them as well as the backwater colonies of asari space.

The things couldn't fly over a two story house, even if it wanted to. The mass effect fields only gave it enough anti-gravity to literally hover over the ground. That meant it didn't have wheels or a tractor like a damn Mako, which also meant that it wouldn't leave a trail. Another advantage was that anything that flew in NY DMZ usually got shot at—with canons, sometimes—other times, it was just assholes looking for something big and fast to shoot at. Hoverbikes had a shit ton invested in stability and the propulsion systems, the model currently loaned to them was Crimson GX-3, the latest in technology. It would have a kick faster than any Kodiak and that would make up for it still having to turn at corners.

Shepard didn't give Garrus the chance to take the wheel, she sat on the driver's side and uploaded their nav point before turning her eyes to him and motioning with her thumb to climb on to the back. She grabbed the goggles strapped on there (how thoughtful, that Ren), as she fired up the engine—silent, nothing but wisps of air as it slowly lifted itself from the ground and poor Garrus didn't have a choice but to climb on or be left behind.

They drove the rest of the way, without incident this time. Since it didn't matter exactly whether they were spotted, they would have been moving too fast to be traced anyway. Their four clicks distance was covered in minutes. Shepard saw their waypoint from the tail end of the empty street they were on. The imposing, crumbling castle was a place she once called home and she revved up the engine and the accelerator kicked back with a 'hell yeah'.

"Shepard, not that I want to ruin your fun but aren't we going a little too fast?"

"We need to park this."

Garrus cleared his throat. "I think parking requires less speed." He looked ahead. "And a space—not a concrete wall you seem so intent on making us crash into—Spirits, Shepard, stop! That's a _wall_!"

Garrus's hands moved from holding her belt to wrapping his arms around her waist. It was probably sheer and naked trust that didn't have him throwing both of them off the bike.

Shepard laughed at his fear and sped headlong into the wall, its holo shimmering only slightly, and into a long lighted driveway. When she spotted the white lights of the hangar, she slowed down, keying in the passcode that would have a gate closing behind her and the holo of the wall no different than it was before. And when they parked, she killed the engine and pulled off the goggles. Since Garrus hadn't gotten off yet (and she was expecting him too, like his ass was on fire, in fact) she looked behind her.

Garrus crossed his arms. "I hate you."

She slid off the bike, laughing. "Nothing says a first date than feeling the life drain out of you." She looked around the hangar and took a deep breath, she opened her omni-tool and keyed in a passcode that had the lights firing up. "Welcome to Legion HQ, Vakarian."

* * *

If Garrus hadn't seen the unassuming façade of Legion HQ, surrounded by the depression and desolation of NY DMZ—he would have thought that place was plotted in the Citadel or Ilium.

The walls were painted black, the hanging lights were blue or white and whatever table or chair they could sit on was cream or ivory colored. The angles were all crisp and pristine—symmetrical, in the most precise way that it would have put the turian bases back at home to shame. From the hangar, they climbed a winding staircase up to another floor greeting them with a clean living room of the same theme. Shepard said the rooms were a little further down another hall, through a white door. The training hall was instead next to the kitchenette that was already a part of the living room.

This place—he could imagine someone like Shepard really living in a polished and clean place like this. Neat and well-maintained, without pollutants or gaudy excess.

Just before Garrus could do a little more snooping around, he turned to Shepard who was looking around the room. He tilted his head at her curiously. "Something wrong?"

"Little Ben, you know the VI I mentioned earlier," she peeked behind the kitchenette counter. "He hasn't come to greet us." She fired up her omni-tool and looked at her holo screen. "It says he's still active but it's part of his programing to at least greet us. All my security protocols are in place so I don't think there was any hostile takeover." She opened the fridge—and then shut it immediately, pulling out a pistol from her holster.

Her eyes were wide when she looked at him. He reached back for his rifle. "What's wrong?"

"There's food in the fridge." She whispered through the comm. Luckily, they both still had their helmet and mask on. "No one's lived in here for more than a decade—there isn't supposed to be food in the fridge."

When the door Shepard had mentioned—the one that led to the rooms—opened as if on cue, hell was a flurry of movement.

There were two targets. Garrus' concussive round hit one of them. She yelped as her shields disintegrated into nothing, and then he ducked behind an armchair as she threw an incinerate at him and made a run towards the desk. The other target was more prepared for the onslaught and had strafed left before the concussive round could deal any collateral damage. That was when Shepard sprung, precise and lethal with a bullet to the neck which shattered his shields. Her other shot missed as he dove behind the cream colored divan. Ducking just in time when the second target's hand shot out and a Warp was sent flying her way—shattering the cabinets behind her and blowing the fridge off its socket and crashing like a thunderclap.

"Bosh'tets!" The first target yelled before sending out a combat drone.

Shepard took it out in three precise shots before it could even get near Garrus. That was all the time he needed to realize he knew that voice and he knew that curse anywhere.

"Tali?" He called out from cover.

"Garrus?" Was the incredulous reply.

Garrus lifted his eyes out of cover the same time the quarian did the same. "What in Spirit's plans are you doing on earth?"

"What am I doing on earth?" She stood at her full height, shotgun realigned behind her and both hands on her hips. "I should be asking you the same question. And how did you get in here? This is a hidden location!"

"I'm with—" He stood up and then looked to his right, where he was expecting Shepard to still be crouched down, probably wary that this could be some kind of trap (doubtful, Tali looked just about as confused and as surprised as he felt).

Instead, she was in the middle of the room, just in front of the couch where the other friendly ducked behind. She practically tore off her mask and tossed it on the ground with a thump. When she opened her mouth, she spoke in a language that couldn't be picked by his translator. He looked down at Tali who shook her head wildly.

He turned back to Shepard—there was something in the way she spoke. The language was elegant—very similar to some asari dialects he'd heard off his translator when he worked in the Citadel. But at the same time, it was nothing like them. He can almost imagine that Shepard was singing instead of speaking.

The figure lifted itself—three fingered hands covered in gloves with no talons—a salarian with a blue glow in his eyes and a scar that ran down the left side of his face and stretched down to his neck.

There was something about him that was completely different from Mordin Solus, even if as salarians went, the good doctor was already distinct and interesting. The fact that his eyes glowed blue with biotics amplified the imposingness of his stance. He had broad shoulders for the lanky species and at least a few inches of height on their average. It was an odd day to call a salarian imposing. It wasn't a term one used to describe them—cunning, arrogant, intelligent—but never imposing.

He stepped away from his place behind the couch, walking towards Shepard in slow but long strides. There was no cockiness, but his footfalls were silent and as he stepped closer and closer to Shepard, Garrus could only think that it was like a jungle cat aiming for the jugular of its unsuspecting prey.

A look so tender took over that impassivity, however, and the three fingered hands reached forward and held Shepard's face. He smoothed a thumb over her right cheek and practically cooed, singing back their language with a deep, sultry smoothness that was unlike all those of his race.

"Lor," something broke, just then, within Shepard that she held on so tightly that it might have shattered in her hands eventually. But a choked sob escaped her when she wrapped her arms around her father, leaning her face against his chest. The salarian moved one hand to the back of her head and wrapped the other around her shoulders.

"I have missed you, my child." He said against her hair, in a language Garrus's translator picked up. When he looked up at Garrus, he was expecting a stern look but only a smile was flashed his way. "And it is nice to meet you too, Garrus Vakarian."


	67. Interlude X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the real world just chewed me out, I hope this chapter finds you well and, unlike me, alive.

**Interlude X: Lore of One**

Lor remembered everything.

He could remember the exact circumstance he was born, for example. In such vivid detail it may even make a drell weep with sorrow and envy — they would know, more than anyone, what a gift and a curse, perfect memory was like.

But no one else could appreciate the exactness of a memory—it made for long and terrible storytelling, for most people.

Nonetheless, the ability became useful in a hundred different and marvelous ways for his profession. For example, when tensions rose in the base between brothers and sisters, _Abrue_ and _Adrie_ , then he was easily, the person they would first call to ease fights that could cut to the physical.

Or for when people who expected clarity (for questions needed answers) — all the more for those who knotted and fretted over mysteries (as those who dread the unexplained and un-portrayed often led themselves to melancholy… or off cliffs, if so inclined).

So now that there was a clamor for clarity, a time to get together to share a lore for lucidity—now that you've asked such a simple request, a tale to tell, Lor was very willing to provide.

* * *

It was neither boast nor lie when he believed his highest regarded skill was assassination and subterfuge. It was what why his Rite scars were in hands, after all. It was why he was made into an _Agael,_ a true master — when he was only 10. Even for a salarian, that was incredibly young.

That, however, didn't make him a mature person.

As his _Adiel_ , his mother, looked down at him with her arms crossed and all the weight shifted on her right foot — all he could do was glare up with his right eye (the left was swollen shut) and frown with his busted bottom lip.

She sighed, the violet skin that covered her body and face contrasted with the white cloak over her shoulders. She turned around to sink into the white pillow on an elevated platform where a pot of tea and two cups had been prepared on a short legged table.

 _Adiel_ Hasani, his mother and his teacher — she was the oldest of the League. One of the very few non-salarian members in its long history — so far, one of three asari. When she had been made into an _Agael,_ she was well into the end of her maiden years, but another master, a salarian by the name of Dux, had saved her life from a pirate raid on her ship. Since then, she'd made herself into one of the main pillars of guidance and strength in their group. She was also one of the few masters who had Rite scars in both her hands, her feet, and her shoulder blades. Each paired place representing an expertise — hands for assassination and subterfuge, feet for reconnaissance, and shoulders — shoulders for the bastions of the League of One, the _Agael_ who stood above all other _Agael._

The young Lor had always thought she had gotten the complete set of Rite scars because his _Adiel_ had the gift of a long life. It was much later, too late, that he found out that she had earned her titles in the span of only sixty years.

But he was getting ahead of himself, right now, _Adiel_ Hasani sat in front of him as she always sat — the very calm and beautiful mold of weariness and disappointment set on the frown of her lips.

"Why did you call me?" The young Lor asked, though at that time, he had yet to possess a real name.

She continued to stare.

He gritted his teeth. "Isn't this the part where you reprimand me? Rip me a new one, as the human saying goes—"

"You've been reading their literature again—"

"Am I not allowed to learn about the world outside the League of One?"

She sighed, deeply. " _Arin,_ child, why do you insist on this farce of stupidity when we both know you're anything but a fool?" He turned away from her, but her hand shot out to pull him by the chin to face her. "Why pretend that you cannot beat your _Abrue_ , your brothers, when you know you are their better?"

He didn't answer. How could he? "There is no reason to shame them."

"The real shame was that you didn't stand to fight." He didn't even see her reach out for his right hand till he felt the strength of her grip and the heat of her skin against his Rite scar. "The right means pain. All pain. It represents it. Even the pain of hubris. It was your place to teach your _Abrue_ theirs, as your place amongst the _Agael_ , the true masters. And you have denied them this lesson."

"Death would have been that compensation," he whispered. Biting his lip, he remembered in full detail the beating he had endured in the hands of the others. How he suffered through it even if he knew that he could have weaved through every blow they dealt, how he could have inflicted the pain he received tenfold. "Mercy—"

"Mercy?" She sneered. "Human literature taught you this so-called definition of mercy?"

He shook away her hold on his hand. "You would have had me kill my own brothers just to prove that you are best teacher here? That your only student in this century could have kicked their asses here and back again?"

She scoffed. "Please. I don't need you to prove my place in the League, _Arin_."

"Then what is it, _Adiel_ , mother? Why am here?"

"Because you have forgotten the reason why they prosecute you. Why you remain unnamed despite being _Ageal, Arin_."

He didn't realize he was breathing so hard, practically heaving. When he looked away again, she pulled him back by the chin until he was staring at dark, grey eyes.

"The League is saturated with fools. Few of us keep to the old and ancient ways and even fewer thrive in skill and wisdom of the _Fohral_ , the creed." Her hands moved to the sides of his face. "Let me tell you now, _Arin,_ that you are one of those children in decades to be made _Agael_ at such an amazing pace. That you will stand above your contemporaries in a place they can never hope to reach. But let me tell you as well that your nature will never make you any more special than the biotics you've mastered or the blade you've practiced." She grinned, all shining and feral teeth. "And your nature will know when you've found your better, your bane. And you will curse yourself because you will not have the strength to overcome your weakness."

Lor would look back at this moment and understand it. However, as he was a young salarian — nameless and confused, all he could do back then was remember what _Adie_ l Hasani said. The most important lesson she had bequeathed him — even more than the ones she had explained and made against his hands and a year later, on his shoulder blades when he was finally granted a real name.

And even if he did remember it, he was not ready for its true meaning. Especially not when it arrived.

* * *

Lor wore the sorrow like a dark, cloak. It shielded him from light and cold alike, and even if he could mourn he knew it would serve no true purpose.

Very few members of the League of One were scattered, as it was the season of _Mirdia_ — the season of storytelling. Everyone would be in one base during this week and very few would not be able to attend the one event where all of the few families that made the League actually gathered to enjoy each others' company (or curse it, it all depended on who in the League you asked).

Every person he knew from that world was snuffed out — a plot so large and sinister that even the oldest stealth ops group had not foreseen it happening, not in this way: the extinction of their entire culture. And they were gone like any star past its prime: thrown and unknown and far into the dark.

Or literally, destroying the asteroid base where they had all converged. _Mirdia_ was a time of joy — but now all Lor could think off is how stupid they all were to think that no one knew anything about their existence. How foolish that they could be so vulnerable to the growing, thriving world around them when all they did was cling to old ways.

"Council highly suspect. Likely, Spectres. Only type of people to take League of One as equals." Mordin Solus handed him a glass of something cold. He wouldn't have known what it was, he could barely taste it. "Could still be after you."

"No," he shook his head. "They wouldn't look for me."

"How come?"

"I wouldn't be in the records. I—" He reached for his left shoulder. "I was only given a name two weeks ago. I'm not in the censure."

"Ah," Solus blinked. "That is—fortunate."

He took another sip of the drink. "Indeed."

He had met the younger salarian, Mordin Solus, by accident when the other man was 13. It had been on a mission, some four years back. He had disguised himself as a researcher where Solus, four years younger than him, had been lead researcher. The man was brilliant. And brilliant enough to know that he hadn't belonged in their group of researchers. The doctor didn't surrender him to the authorities, however. And just as he entered the researcher's home, uninvited, the man still hadn't given him up to the Salarian Union or some other Citadel affiliated body.

"What's your plan now?"

Lor shrugged. "Look for others, maybe. Search for the perps. Maybe kill them."

"So, revenge?"

His skin felt cold under the touch of his bare hands, scars revealed and stark. He could place his sorrow, feel it embrace him as he thought of his _Adiel_ and his _Abrue_ and _Adrea_ , all of his family taken from him by some phantoms. He stood, alone, for the first time in his life since being hatched.

He didn't answer Solus, in fact, none of them said anything even as he left the scientist's home. But somehow, the answer was clear to both of them.

* * *

He spent his first year, as the last of League, doing all the things his teacher, his _Adiel_ had thought were repugnant.

He did the pilgrimage to Gaiam Mountain, for one, to meditate with voluptuous and wise asari priestesses, the _dwraena_. Hasani had thought the idea of reclusive asari "mind healers" boorish and counterproductive, as opposed to the Justicar who actually got things done. Even the League of One, secretive as the sect was, maneuvered behind the shadows of the world's curtains.

Lor was not surprised when he arrived and could not find the _dwraena_ boorish, not in the least.

There were, at most, only about 35 fully ordained priestesses, who were strict in the rites and conducted Wanderings. They resided in the temple, _Rae ,_ the name of the goddess Dwrae — or more accurately, a spirit of the space that existed in literature before the time of the goddess Athame. An ethereal form, incorporeal and unexplainable — but to the priestesses she was the mother of all existences, the queen of the void, the weaver of desires and dreams. Their scriptures gave them gifts of mind healing, unlike anything modern science has been able to procure. And technology that allowed them to be self-sufficient in Janiri, a planet with a culture and a people that thought them mad to not believe in Athame — and allowed them to build a temple of hollowed, white stone that seemed to come to life with the touch of biotics and protect them from the cold snow and harsh winds of Gaiam Mountain.

So, he was inclined to believe, that their effective use of biotics had given them more control on their nerve-merging copulation practices.

And he did experience it himself — not the mind healing, no. The actual copulation. Mind blowing, breathtaking copulation.

Though the practices in the temple _Rae_ were as strict as any place — sex was not banned. Sex between the _dwraena_ , of course, was prohibited. Dirty, even. Sex with the pilgrims was frowned upon between the ordained. But the young trainees — hm, not so much. At least, not to Lor's knowledge. At least, so long as it wasn't in any place sacred. And Lor wasn't particularly picky about where so long as it was good for both of them.

Her name had been Cely, beautiful and bright Cely. Her wit made her stand out among the shy priestesses there. And she had been just as curious about him and his origin as he was about her and the practices of her sect. She had shown him a little of their defensive arts, for example, the _Vidash_ — and he absorbed as much of it as he could. In turn, he had taught her a little of the League's language.

About four months, falling into a routine of study and sensuality, he had sat on the windowsill, one leg hanging off as he stared out at the lavender light of one of the three moons of Janiri, in spite of the frost that covered the mountain in perpetual white and cold. "I think I will go to Earth."

Cely rose from hiding under the covers of laziness. Lounging about had become a normal practice for her since they had gotten close. "Oh? What would you find there?"

"Books."

She laughed at him. "Really? You'll leave the loveliness of Gaiam for overpriced bundles of paper?"

When Lor turned to face her, eyes glowing blue and the dark energy of biotics drumming beneath his skin — he felt, rather than saw, Cely tremor under his gaze. The temple _Rae_ was an amazing structure, nowhere else did he feel his biotics call to him so immediately, not even on Thessia. He would have loved to stay a little longer to know more of their secrets (and he had already taken more from Cely than she knew — but he was sure she had done the same to him). "It's about time I start saving up again to buy more overpriced bundle of papers."

She was frowning now. "I thought — I thought this place had given you peace. Some tranquility."

Lor leaned back against the crystal window, the barest of frost touching the bastion scars that stretched from his shoulders to the blades of his back. "I wonder if I deserve this peace you keep telling me I can find."

"Lor—"

"Cely," he cut her off. "I am a salarian. A biotic salarian, yes, and so maybe I have a few more years in me than others normally do." A Union secret, which is why they never revealed their salarian biotics to the outside world. Too few, too precious, must be contained to conduct experiments to extend life spans for normal salarians (another Union secret). "But, soon I will be old. And then, I will die. The L— My family is no more, their name I will cast off because superstition proves it wise. But all the knowledge, all the old ways: the arts and language, there must be some way to keep them alive."

"Students, disciples—"

"No," he said sternly. "There will be no more like me. No more in this — forsaken place."

Cely stood from the bed, draped in her thick and fluid silks. She wrapped her azure arms around his shoulders as soon as she drew close enough to touch him, leaning her chin against the top of his head. She didn't say anything — no chastisement, especially since she was much older than he was (for all the thousand year old secrets that was buried within him, her sects teachings did go as far back as his own). In turn, he held her back — skin drawing away from the window and falling into the warm shadow of the room.

* * *

After he had promised to take in no students, it was no wonder that not more than a year later, he would take one under his wing. Vera's place in his life — it would not dawn on him until much later, but even before she had begun to learn, he knew she was an ideal student: patient in practice, clever with words, quick to understand, and fast in movement. It had been a reluctant arrangement, wherein at times he would be thankful for her existence and yet resent her for her constancy.

It worsened only when he had given her the Rite scars — the resentment. That in all the ways he had tried to push her away — she had only clung tighter. She was different after that, as well — but also fiercer and more dependable. She was an _Agael_ now, a true master — older than he had been but still very young by human standards. She had earned it but Lor — he had hated that she had come to this point and so soon.

He didn't want to examine why.

As he had mentioned, age didn't procure him the wisdom he so needed. Rai — as she was called then — was always the wiser between the two of them. He was 28 when everything finally clicked into place.

Revenge was always in the undercurrent: under the beating of his heart, in every step he took. He denied it for many years — mostly, because he wanted to be free of the League of One, maybe rid it somehow. But it always came back to him in some form, the League of One had created Lor. And though now under the Legion of One, it was not much different from before. Only that their sect consisted of two.

He had found some way to keep the secrets alive, raised walls of stone and knowledge to protect and brought a child whose mastery, he knew, would one day exceed his own. All he had to do now was cut down old enemies. And likely, die doing so.

He didn't look back even when Rai—no, when Vera called him as he left her. And for many, many years — he could swear that he barely thought of her.

* * *

Lor would look back at this moment, this revelation below, and call it the end of his youth for good.

It had been random — coincidental (if those did truly exist in this small, cruel world). He had only arrived on Ilium to access an old data cache full of goodies on a lead on the last asari on his kill list. He hadn't found her name yet, but he was close. It was all he needed to end it all.

He stepped into the line to use the transit hubs when he spotted her.

She was older, that was true. The last time he saw her, she was 16 and scraggy. A scarf blowing in the wind, anchored to the ground only by sagacity given to her at such a young age. But now, she was a frigid chill down his spine, standing tall and straight. Her dark red hair was tied and long, leathers of grey and black clung to a battle honed body — and the sword strapped to her back stood out like the tail of a scorpion. Her eyes were green, glinting like a crystal against the pale moonlight of a dark night.

She was alive, and well, and strong.

The vision flashed before him — her sword in his heart, her hands twisting his neck in a death grip. Taking an instinctual step back: he had never felt the fear of death as he did so closely then, not since he had taken his _Adiel,_ his mentor, on in battle.

He didn't dare meet her eyes. His battle sense, used in all the years since he could hold a sword and shoot a gun warned him not to. This Vera — this child, and student, and beloved person — had all the abilities and powers to crush him beneath her feet if she so wished to.

Vera had exceeded him, in such a short amount of time, in the three years they had been apart. What would she be like in five? In ten?

He slid into the transit hub, undetected by her. Leaning forward, he smiled through the shaking of his hands and clattering of his teeth.


	68. Interlude XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter? So soon?
> 
> Just to make up for the month I missed, and because I felt inspired by all the comments and reviews. :) Thanks to all who are still with me. Another interlude, a very poignant one, I suggest you not skip this one. Would have normally had been a chapter, but since it was written in Tali's POV (which was the most effective for the storytelling I was aiming for) I couldn't name it, as such.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Interlude XI- Spider Web**

All at once it was confusion, warmth, intrigue, suspense — and Tali wasn't sure what else but she was pretty sure she had been assigned an audience seat and had, somehow, failed the audition to be part of the cast. Which was totally unfair, because she didn't know there were auditions, moreover, Garrus looked just as flustered as she felt, he was just obviously more well-informed.

Rachel — or rather, Rai Shepard (apparently, that wasn't her real name either but Tali didn't care anymore, she just wanted to know what the hell was going on) turned out to be a student of Lor's (also, not his real name, apparently — _boshtets_ , didn't they get confused? Sometimes, even one name was confusing enough). And they had been separated for many, many years. He had also been the reason why Tali ended up sloshed in Flux some odd two years ago, after Saren was killed and Harbinger was destroyed. Because, their family or clan or something couldn't leave debts unpaid and Saren was apparently on Lor's "kill list."

The details in between that were sketchy at best, but since Garrus was nodding along to some of the things Shepard was trying to explain — about what the current situation on the Reapers was, and apparently, the Collectors and her part of repaying her father's debt — Tali didn't want to be the idiot who didn't know anything. So, she said nothing and listened in silence, trying to remember as much of it as she could so she could ask Garrus about it later.

"I think the real mystery is how you ended up here, Lor," Shepard referred to her father, her teacher, by his name. Tali couldn't imagine doing the same with her father. "And how Tali ended up here as well."

Tali shrugged her shoulders. "I'm on vacation."

Lor snorted. "For an engineer, you're horribly misinformed about vacation spots."

"I don't want to hear about misinformation from a socially inept salarian," she replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Shepard chuckled and leaned back against the couch. "You two sound like you've spent some time together."

"He found me bleeding and dying from a fever when I left Cip-town at night." Shepard visibly winced. Tali sighed. "Yeah, I found out the hard way."

Garrus cleared his throat. "You know, no one has really explained to me what happens to this place at night."

Tali would have taken that opportunity to gloat, but she doubted the throbbing pain from her half-healed wound and the weakness from having just recovered from the fever was worth the pride. Shepard reached over, patting him lightly on the knee with a mockingly happy smile. "If you're lucky, Garrus, you'll never have to know."

Garrus didn't look convinced. "Knowing me, I have the worst luck."

"But you're with me and I always win," she rested her chin against her hand and her smile widened. "So, I suppose you're not going to die."

The turian grumbled, a little too playfully to really be annoyance. "Reassuring."

Keelah, Tali said to herself. What is was this weird bubbles-and-sparkles atmosphere between these two? Were they — friends? When did this all happen? Was two years that long of a time? Last she remembered, Garrus found Rachel an insufferable but necessary ally against the Reapers.

Hands on her lap, Tali bowed her head — all the while, she was very aware that Lor beside her on the partly burnt couch, was glaring at them so hard she was surprised a Singularity hadn't appeared to separate them.

In the week that she'd been injured and saved by the old salarian, she had been stuck to the bed — delirious from fever and dependent on antibiotics. The only past time she was permitted was studying Lor. Not that the man gave much away, but when Tali put her mind to it she could learn any machine. Granted, people were far from machines (i.e. Geth) but Lor wasn't exactly a person, not from what she was able to study of him. Until this moment, Tali thought Shepard was the same.

"Now, Lor, what's your story exactly? Popping up, after all these years and being able to run into you here —"

The angry air that had been swirling about him just a minute ago vanished like wisps of smoke, all as if Tali imagined it.

Lor smiled. "Didn't you say you were glad to see me, Rai?"

"That was a while ago. Now, I want to gut you."

Lor's laugh was of the hacking kind, the type that flew through the room like a battle axe and embedded itself into the farthest wall. It was a weird thing, for a father to be glad that his own daughter wanted to hurt him. "You mentioned once, didn't you? If you would ever get siblings?"

"Which you never answered."

"Well," he crossed his legs. "I followed my wayward son, your brother, here. He had — delusions. That he could find you and kill you. Prove himself, he thinks. I traced him here, and though I'm sure you could handle yourself I doubt he could fare so well."

"You took in another student?"

"Three, actually."

"And your revenge?"

"Finished, thanks to your Commander Alenko."

"And so?" She looked at him, chin still on her hand. Her eyes glowing green. "What excuse do you have?"

"Excuse?"

"The one you thought up as the reason why you've never contacted me all this time. Even if you were very capable of finding me." She smiled, wide and all teeth. "And not dead."

He sighed, completely unperturbed that Shepard looked very capable of shredding him into confetti. "Is it so hard to believe that I thought keeping my distance was what was best for the both of us?"

"And you thought toting three children around on your travels was good for them?" They didn't look away from each other. If Tali could shrug off her suit just to remove the stifling atmosphere, she would have gladly gone through another week of fever and medication. "Well," Shepard braced her hands against her knees and stood. "I was glad to see you yet live, sir. It's a relief."

Lor sighed. The sort of condescending sort of sigh Tali got from her own father when she was being stubborn about something. "Rai, there is no need to—"

She stepped away just as he reached out to catch her arm, walking past them all and through the door that led to the rest of the compound. She didn't spare them a second glance. Lor took back his hand, slowly, his large eyes unreadable and his face closed.

Wordlessly, Garrus stood up as well. He gave them both a small nod and followed after Shepard.

Tali cleared her throat. "If I may, sir? There's something I'd like to say."

"What?" The salarian's tone was frigid and low. Tali promised herself not to think of her own father.

"She's spent most of her time and resources looking for you. Since the two of you were separated. Fifteen years, was it?" She paused to get Lor's confirmation but the older man just stared ahead. "All that time, well, she definitely could have spent it on other things. But she didn't. I — well, I can't begin to imagine why. My relationship with my own father is rather complicated. But we're blood, we can't really escape each other, no matter how much we might want to."

That's when Lor stood, a crackle of his biotics on his fist flickered and flashed. His eyes were glowing blue and swirling black. "What could you possibly know of the bond between Rai and I, child? Of what we suffered together — and apart." He closed his eyes, then. And a little of the dark energy ebbed away but was still present, shifting merely from strong waves crashing into the shore to the howling, present winds — unseen, foreboding.

"I don't," Tali shrugged, fingers twitching. "But you could at least talk to her about it properly. I — If I had spent half my life looking for my own father I would have liked him to at least be honest as to why he abandoned me."

"I didn't abandon her."

"That's not what the whole exchange sounded like."

And there it was, that hard stare he gave her when she first woke up and found out that she had actually survived the fever from her gunshot wound (and a million microorganisms that she was allergic to). Lor, who had sat across her bed and watched her sleep as he told her he saved her because she stained the rubble of his home and to get out as soon as she was better. Tali wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't kicked her out as soon as she was able to show him that she could walk with the barest of limps now. But from their time together, she could tinker with the puzzle that was Lor.

And not that Tali wanted to brag, but she was very good at solving puzzles.

"You," she swallowed. "You don't see her as your daughter, do you?"

If she had one, she would have dropped a pin and Garrus and Shepard who were rooms away would have heard it like an explosion. Lor, on the other hand, stared back at her with wider, bluer, glowing eyes. Tali, reaching for her throat, would have sobbed at the implications of that stare. "You — are you ashamed of her?"

"No," he said sternly. "Never."

"Then why?"

He didn't answer. Looking away, he leaned forward, his back curving till he was hunched. The two of them remained, silent. Unmoved.


	69. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have fun. :)

**Chapter 57**

Lor was not, at all, like Garrus imagined him.

He was expecting someone more sage-like. The kind you'd meet on the path to Omega by accident that would talk you out of it through anecdotes and such.

Rather, Lor seemed the type to talk you into the death trap and pat himself on the back for evil well used. The conclusion wasn't a hard one to reach. He knew a few pieces from Shepard's childhood, combined with their earlier interaction. At least he knew where Shepard had learned to lie and evade truth so flawlessly

Speaking of Shepard, whom he was bent on finding, he got to her by walking through grey walled and sparsely lit halls— a left and then a straight ahead till he reached the last door and into a study.

It was a loft type room, with shelves of paperback books on the top floor and against the far wall. There was a dusty, dark wood desk in front, but Garrus found Shepard on the couch— facing away from him and looking into a pulled out drawer that must have come from the desk. He peered over the couch at her, and found her running paper through a long sword but not the one she usually carried. It had a flat, thin blade. It's length at least a meter and a half and its body ebony and sharp against the yellow mood light.

What was really striking about it was the handle, it was carved to fit her palm and five fingers, the sword guard was iron-wrought but yellow and stretched to protect her hand in wisps of gold.

"We're here for her," she said suddenly and he jumped at the sound of her voice in the quiet. Shepard didn't turn back but Garrus could hear the smile in her voice. "She's called Cae," she snorted. "Ironically, Mad helped me name her. He's good with names."

Garrus clicked his mandibles together. "Is it some equivalent of 'mine' in the drell language?"

Shepard laughed, sparing him a glance as he dropped beside her on the couch. "No, it's after the Caeed, the guardian wolves of Amonkira, God of swiftness and the hunt."

"Huh."

"Impressed?"

"It'll do."

She laughed again. Did Shepard always laugh at him? He couldn't remember. "She was my Rite sword."

He tilted his head to the side. "Meaning?"

She turned to look at him, sliding with deliberate slowness the paper that she was using to clean her blade. "She gave me the final set of Rite scars." She held up her hand, covered in its usual black glove. Garrus had never gotten a good look at them, but from Sensat's stories they were—horribly scarred—in concert with the all the rest of Shepard and complimentary to her way of existence. "She's my partner."

"So why'd you leave her here?"

"She meant too much to me. When I got arrested by the Alliance, it was a good call. The sword I had then was confiscated and I never got it back." She patted her usual sword. "This one's been modded a bunch of times, and I got him when I left the Alliance. Not much history before we met but I didn't have to worry about wearing him out."

"You know, there's a merc in the Normandy who talks about his Avenger rifle like an old girlfriend too."

Her eyes lit up. "Sounds like my kind of people."

"If your kind of people are old mercenaries who were betrayed by old friends, riddled in scars, and likes to hear the sound of their own voice—"

"Definitely my kind of people," she smirked. "We'd probably share a drink between us and talk about the scars." She faced him as she slid the blade back into the holster. "Don't we already get along so well?"

Garrus' chuckle rumbled out, betraying the mock-hurt he wanted to portray. "Please, I have so much more class than Massani."

She flashed him a close-lipped smile then, turning away, the smile melted into a neutral expression. Her eyes were looking far ahead of her, maybe through the shelves of books and beyond and through New York DMZ and maybe even further than that, if Garrus would let her.

But he knew what happened when Shepard thought too much. More often than not, he would come out at the short end of it. In the name of being selfish, he reached out to place his hand over hers—the one that had the sword in a vice grip.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She took a quick glance at their hands, then up at his face. "About what?"

"What happened back there would be my first choice. But," he squeezed her hand. Enough to feel the weight of the sword she was carrying. "We won't talk about it if you don't want to. Other points of discussion could be—butterflies or shoes. And, hmm. I hear humans like to occasionally talk about the weather."

It was small but the smile was there, a crack on the mask she so carefully kept on at all times. "Do you really want to talk about butterflies?"

"Hell, no. They scare the shit out of me. Have you seen their faces? Spirits, give me a damn swarm of Collector bugs any day." He laughed with her. "But we're not going to do that thing where I force you to tell me something. I think I've learned you like your mystery all too much."

"Doesn't it add to my charm?"

"It makes me want to strangle you, Shepard. But I suppose if you're into that—"

She rested her other hand over his, laughing. Her eyes were sparkling and it was very, very hard for him to look away. She did, though, but only to look down and lift his hand to her mouth, lips trembling. His heart swelled and his breath stuttered when she kissed his wrist, a reflection of what he did just a few hours before. "Do you want me talk about it?"

"Yes, please."

She chuckled, her cheek rubbing against his palm was smooth and soft. "One may smile, and smile, and be a villain."

"Are you talking about Lor—or about yourself?"

She sighed, breath warm against his palm but ragged. The fear must be getting to her but she let his hand remain. "Today only confirmed something about Lor, which I was afraid to face—" She snapped her teeth shut and then continued. "That he only saw me as an investment." She took back one hand to tap her middle finger against her temple. "A failsafe."

Garrus blinked. "Is that how you'd interpret the way he—" He stopped himself, a hum of thought under his breath.

"What? You think he's in love with me?" Her smile was too amused for his liking. "Can I just say that Mad thought the exact same thing?"

"Are you comparing us?" He growled. "You just do it because you know I hate him."

She patted his hand. "There, there. You are my favorite."

He huffed and a little bit of that brightness returned to her eyes. "So, if he doesn't see you—like that—then what is wrong with him?"

Shepard shifted in her seat so that her feet were on the couch, in between them. The sword she sheathed and placed it on the coffee table, a reach away. Then, she took his hands again in her own. "How do you see people, Garrus? Do you—categorize them?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Well, I suppose based on my time in C-Sec I'd study them. Based on whether they were good or bad? Or hm, based on their skill?"

"But your assumptions are always informed, yeah? Based on, say, the way someone carries himself or the way they hold a gun?" She waited for his small nod and she returned it. "I make the same conclusions, based this time on whether they will or will not hurt me." She smirked. "I may have been a spy and assassin for most of my life, but I grew up in this DMZ. We have our primary goals. Surviving always came first for me. The same way righteousness comes first to you."

The way she held his hands in hers made his own seem so small and fragile and precious. Maybe it was the way she ran her thumbs against his own or the watery gaze she turned to them. "Something else drives Lor. It's primal and selfish—but it's not love." Her laugh was airy and soft. "I doubt he knows what it is. I sure as hell don't."

"Hey," he called her softly and she looked up at him. "Don't cry."

Her smile was crooked. "I'm not crying."

Leaving the protectiveness of her grip, he reached out to cup her face. It was foreign—her skin was even smoother and softer, and her cheeks were warm as he wiped the skin under her eyes, tracing nothing. Wordlessly, he leaned his forehead against hers, and he felt the puff of breath from her lips—like she hadn't been breathing.

Just when he realized that Shepard probably had no idea what the hell he was doing, she slipped away from his grasp to nuzzle the uninjured side of his neck. He purred, and flushed at the sound because wow, way to embarrass yourself in front of a girl and Shepard of all people—and then it got worse when her five fingers reached behind his fringe and massaged. Her amazing, dexterous five fingers that knew exactly what to do and how much pressure to put before finally pressing, hard, to claw enough that it burned.

And he knew, right away, that he was playing into the hands of a skilled technician—who knew way too much about where it would feel so right, by the Spirits—and that he was in a disadvantage because he didn't know anything about what she might like.

"Tell me what you like," he said to her.

She chuckled against his throat. "Are you into that sort of power play, Garrus?"

His hum rumbled through him and he wasn't completely aloof to the effect that had on her. "Not particularly. I just asked because—I don't know. And I want to know."

If that surprised her, she didn't let it show. Instead, she crawled on top of his lap, her weight a very comfortable and cushiony pressure against his thighs. Her eyes were a bright green as she leant down to bump her forehead against his and he hummed in satisfaction. "You're adorable," she whispered against his mouth plates and her lips were soft and her breath was warm.

Kissing. He knew what it was. He'd seen asari and humans do it. Some friendly. Some—more than friendly. But he counted one, then two, and he still wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing. Luckily, Shepard moved back to lock eyes with him instead.

"We'll work on that."

He hissed, willing himself not to feel so damned embarrassed and failing miserably as his mood deteriorated. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, she reached for his hands and guided them to hold her around the waist. The smirk she sent him did weird things to his insides. "Don't be sorry. You're a quick study. And I am a very willing teacher." Her lips moved under his jaw and, whispering close, she ordered: "Follow me."

Her breath was hot right before she sank her teeth into his throat. He groaned, loud and unabashed, because Spirits—how did she know about where to bite and about the pressure? For turians, the skin around the neck was thinner but for human teeth it would still be pretty tough save for _that_ spot. Between his people, who were in romantic relationships (Spirits, why did he sound so clinical about it though?) might discuss how hard to bite—too hard then it would have been rude—violating, even. It was a vulnerable pleasure spot, after all. One he shouldn't have readily made easy access so soon in their budding relationship.

But when did Garrus ever really care about polite turian society? No, he should say goodbye to these really un-sexy thoughts and focus on just how steadily Shepard increased the power of her bite and how his grip on her waist must have been hard enough to leave bruises.

When she let go of his throat, it was all too soon until she said it was his turn and he felt heat on his fingertips and behind his eyes. He avoided the left side, remembering the mangling maps of new scars he saw last time—and aimed instead for the junction between her right shoulder—jacket off and flesh exposed— and her throat and he sank his teeth there.

She shuddered, hands on his shoulders and her weight and grip were heavy. He doubted that she was deriving the same amount of pleasure he took from her when she did it. But just before he was about to let go, she put her lips against his ear and whispered, "Harder."

The heat behind his eyes grew unbearable and the vulnerable neck she had exposed to his teeth was probably going to swell and bruise for a few days. He didn't want to draw blood—between turians that was more than just violating, if not between partners who have neither discussed nor agreed to draw blood—but it was harder to give the pressure he wanted and not have his teeth sink through her skin like a sponge.

"I am made of steel," her voice was reverent and drunk with lust. And sensual enough that even without the subvocals he found himself under her spell. "And you cannot hurt me, unless I let you."

Lucius, the turian poet, had written that for an epic some two hundred years ago. And Garrus was sure Lucius had never meant it to sound sexy but, Spirits, those words went through him and he felt his teeth dig through her skin and Shepard gasped.

He let the fire die down to a smoldering candlelight before he retracted his teeth, tasting the blood against them. The wound he made wasn't deep—he thanked his control more than anything—but Shepard looked far too happy and sated after being injured.

Then it occurred to him and he glared at her, grip on her waist moving up and down. "You know a little too much about our romantic customs, Shepard. How long have you been thinking about this?"

She flashed a smile with all her teeth. "I did have to work as consort for a few months, if you recall."

"A fancy brothel wouldn't teach you something this—intimate."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You really want to hear about my old war stories?"

He chuckled. "Only you'd equate a relationship to a battlefield." He noticed the wound he made with something akin to affection and morbid fascination. "And only you would do this just to check if I would get an allergic reaction."

"Aren't you happy you're fine?" She smiled. "But just in case I have antihistamines in my pack of rations." Chuckling, she bumped her forehead against his. "Crow gave me a really funny look at the request but he's always been a quick study."

"And I'm struggling to understand." He huffed and she laughed. "Can I stop feeling like a 15 year old, horny idiot and please do some research on where the hell I'm supposed to put my hands?"

Shepard, assassin and badass, actually pouted at him. "I thought you were doing just fine, though."

"And beyond." He coughed. "I feel like only I'm having fun."

"I'm having plenty fun, thank you." She was still pouting.

He slid a hand down from her cheek, to her neck and she shivered as he locked eyes with her. "A different kind of fun."

"Well—"

They both heard the hydraulics of the door kicking in and even as his grip on her stiffened she remained very comfortable on his lap.

"Garrus, we have— Oh!" Just when Tali was shielding her eyes with her hands was the only time Shepard, deliberately lazy, climbed out of her position and stood. "Keelah, I was still trying to get over the fact that you two were friends and—keelah, that's not why I'm here—so I'll need to borrow Garrus for a bit— but lock the door next time!"

"Noted, Tali." Shepard laughed behind her hand and grabbed her sword. "Shall I give you two some privacy?"

Garrus nodded, clearing his throat, he added sheepishly. "Please."

She nodded back to him. Right before the doors could shut behind her she heard Tali's amused laugh and Garrus's groan.

* * *

_Reference:_

_"One may smile, and smile and be the Villain." Hamlet._


	70. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a tidal wave called work kept me from updating. And though I was supposed to post this chapter sooner, I forgot the password to the file and only managed to retrieve it early today.
> 
> Nonetheless, may this chapter give you both enjoyment and clarity. :)

**Chapter 58**

Thankfully, Tali opted to finish business first. An hour spent detailing the details of the past two years was plenty: it was the last few months that was harder to explain. At some point, Tali excused herself and managed to get 5 bottles of sterilized Turian beer which she stole from Cipritine town—unbeknownst to even Lor—just to prove that she recovered just fine, occasional wheeze and all.

"So—you lost your squad?" Tali whispered.

He nodded. They'd traded mail occasionally over the years and kept good contact up until he was sent back to Palaven. Correspondence became zero when Tali was sent on a confidential mission and he was busy cracking his own cases on the Collector and Reaper presence back home.

The fact that he had a squad in Omega wasn't news to Tali but the fact that most of them had died during an ambush, instigated by a traitor he once described in his mails as 'trustworthy' stung all the more against the glare of Tali's helmet.

"I—" She wrung her hands together on her lap, facing down with her shoulders sagged. "No, being sorry isn't going to fix it. But I feel for you, Garrus—I—" She faltered, hands wringing even faster.

"Is this related to you being on Earth?" She flinched but didn't answer or look up. Garrus hummed to himself, leaning back against the couch. "I see."

"You—you're not going to ask about it?"

"No," he answered. "You probably want to talk about it is as much as I want to talk about my squad."

"Which is not at all?"

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut audibly. Tali looked up at him and even if he couldn't see her expression he was pretty sure she was feeling something close to expectation. "I have every intention of avenging them." The burning rage he felt every time he thought of Sidonis walking free and alive boiled his blood.

"I've gotten stupidly drunk for mine," Tali chuckled, with such a heavy dose of self-depreciation. "And even if I tried to kill every single geth in existence it wouldn't bring them back. I just wish—" Tali inhaled deeply, voice warbling. "That I knew how to deal with this better."

He put his hand over hers. "I'm sorry. Even if that doesn't fix anything."

"Me too," she whispered back. Silence stretched between them until she cleared her throat. "Let's talk about something happier! Like, um, Commander Alenko is alive!"

He blinked. "You knew about that?"

She nodded vigorously, jumping a little in her seat. "I met him by accident in Freedom's Progress—"

"Human colony?"

"Right," she nodded. "They were investigating the colony's disappearance. We—my team and I—were picking up a kid from his Pilgrimage. He asked me to join his crew, but with the Flotilla and Cerberus—I had to turn him down."

And with that the whole atmosphere was somber again. Garrus sighed, patting Tali's hands. "He won't hate you for rejecting him, you know."

"But you didn't reject him."

"He's one of my closest friends and he saved my life." Garrus lifted his shoulder in the most human shrug he could muster for his size. "It's hard to say no when a friend asks nicely. And—" He hesitated to say, but one last burst of courage urged him to say it. "He isn't doing so well, right now."

Tali gasped, small but powerful enough that it sounded like she held her breath. "What's wrong?"

"Some complications with his psyche. No one is entirely sure if it's the stress from being resurrected or the weight of the galaxy but he's—suffering from PTSD. It's serious enough that he's being excused from duty."

"What?" Tali stood from her seat. "Then who's commanding the Normandy?"

Clearing his throat, Tali looked down at him for a long, long time until realization jolted her. She made a very high pitched sound between a squeal and a screech. "It must be really bad if Cerberus had to defer to an alien leading a human ship to save human colonies."

He shrugged, again. "Had to be me. No one else was as well trusted by the crew and by Alenko. He wouldn't give his command to the XO."

"Ah, is that the really skinny naked looking lady?" He couldn't see it, per se, but he knew a Tali eye roll when he saw one. "She looks like an uptight, uppity _bosh'tet_."

"Oh, she is—redundancy included," he agreed. "But a very competent and intelligent one. She knows what she's doing—her only oversight has been the work she's done to Alenko—he didn't get back up to a 100 percent in time."

Tali snorted. "Pretty big oversight."

"We get along well, in spite."

"But the Commander, uh, what about your mission?"

"Going well. Just took a small detour to Earth under the firm request of the same Commander. We have a Mind Healer on board who is working on his PTSD. I just don't know if he'll be up in time for our mission."

Tali tilted her head. "What mission is this exactly, Garrus? Alenko never really explained last we met."

"Oh, it's just a suicide mission into the Omega 4 Relay so we could blow up the Collector Base that's been abducting all those humans on those colonies." He shrugged when Tali started choking on her own saliva when she gasped. "The usual Commander stuff."

"Keelah..."

"Exactly."

"Does the Alliance still send him on those annoying, little," she punctuated the word with her fingers. "Missions that, anyone could do but Alliance command still sends it to the Commander?"

"Not from the Alliance, per se." He cleared his throat. "But from everyone else?"

"Save a colony from pirates, kill hordes of geth, defeat _the_ Spectre Saren, destroy a Reaper to save the Citadel, and come back from the _dead_ and people still think you're the guy who fetches the mead." Tali huffed, leaning back heavily against the couch rest.

"Sounds about right." He chuckled. "And mead fetching is a very noble profession in most towns."

" _Bosh'tets_." Tali reached forward to grab her drink, downing it in a few gulps and Garrus was sure she couldn't do that before. "Let's stop talking about this."

He grabbed his own drink. "Good idea."

"So," she put her empty glass down. "Rachel, huh?"

Garrus took a long, painful drink of his beer to keep his mouth busy. It didn't help that Tali was giving him a long stare through the glass of her helmet.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

The doors sliding shut behind Shepard echoed down the hall. In the stillness, she counted a few seconds before turning right and going up a set of stairs. Refined white walls were replaced with washed out cream. The banister was rusted and rain stained, and beneath her boots was the crunch of weathered rubble.

At the very top of the steps she found Lor, sitting on one of the concrete blocks that must have made up the foundation of a former roof, now dust scattered hundreds of years old, old as the building that made up her kingdom of rubble. He leaned forward against the hilt of his own sword, his eyes large and bright against the moonlight and looked up at her.

Their kingdom of rubble, if Shepard was being honest, and though it barely mattered whether there was a soul worthy enough to crown and call king—it had rules in place that both of them followed, even if there was no one but themselves to punish them.

One of those rules was: we settle disputes outside the base, preferably, the roof because of the view.

Lor, Shepard shook her head, was always a little weird.

"How do you want to settle this?" Lor asked, the very picture of composure—bathed in moonlight and Shepard was so sure that he was really milking it.

She answered him by drawing her Rite sword for battle for the first time in over ten years, the dark hilt sliding down her gloved hands and clattering against the cement. Her steps were silent as she approached him, walking, then running.

Clashing swords had a different thrill from any other form of fighting. Not even unarmed combat could really quite compare to the clanging, steel vibrations. Your opponent's speed and strength matching your own, feet in a flurry of footwork with the ease of mastery, arms extending and retracting, swinging or piercing—all this playing out in one coordinated dance in your mind as you predicted two, three, four steps ahead. There were very few who could match Shepard in CQC, unarmed or with a weapon—she was confident enough to know that Lor didn't hold back even in their practice bouts when she was a child.

"You've improved." He jumped back, letting out a long breath. "At least."

"At least." She held a stance with the hilt in both her hands and high up near her chin before dashing, countering Lor's sidestep with a sudden stop and a roundhouse kick that connected with his torso, pushing him back with a grunt. "I can't say the same about you."

He smirked, righting his posture, the blue-white edge of his sword glinting in the light flickered as he lounged. She countered with a parry, and he swiped back swiftly. Weapons rang with every contact, their feet unsettling dust as they moved.

"Did you have to embarrass me, downstairs?" she accused.

"What was I supposed to do, Vera?" He finally spoke about the heart of this fight, weapons in a deadlock and faces barely apart. "Was I supposed to talk about our family in front of strangers?"

"As if you would have told me the truth regardless of the audience." She braced for another deadlock and met her mentor's eyes. "All you've taught me—all you ever say is just layers and layers of truth and lie mixed in."

"And you wouldn't do the same to the people you know?"

A swipe and a dodge. A distance of a few feet gave them enough space to get into their own stances, their breaths in sync, "I have no excuse for the cruel way I treat most people. Even people whom I've counted as friends, loved ones—"

Lor hissed. "And you've found space to love others, have you, Vera?

"You've taught me to be afraid." She tightened and then slackened her grip on her sword. Truly, it had been so long since she held it that it rubbed wrong—the callouses she developed to hone it properly had smoothed and softened. But it didn't matter, from then on she wasn't planning on leaving the sword anywhere. In time, she would wield it expertly again.

"To be overly suspicious, to fear betrayal, and hurt, and love." She gritted her teeth. "And all of those teachings have kept me alive and well. But I was still afraid. Did you not pity me, as I searched for you? You were my only family. My father, my brother, my teacher." She felt the sting as her teeth drew blood from her lower lip and waited for him to say something but he remained silent. "Why could you not extend the same love to me as you have those other children—whom you've cared for, have never hurt?" She raised her voice. "Why did you impart in me only pain—and fear?"

Lor's eyes were wide. "You've—you've met them? How—no, I know they must have disobeyed." He sighed. "They are well?"

"They're fine. They're—" She closed her eyes briefly. "You've raised them well."

Lor's smile was smug but the pride wasn't for his accomplishments and Shepard wanted nothing but to rip it off his face. "Olivia is a fine dancer, isn't she? A devil of a sneak thief, but a fine dancer."

"Yes," she agreed.

"And Julius—his heart is stubborn and true. His discipline is unmatched. And for turian, his childhood has made his joints more malleable and his movements more flexible," he whispered. "And he is unfailingly kind."

"Yes."

"So, you've met them. They know—who you are. That you're real." He laughed, mostly to himself. "They've conjured such images of you, from my stories, I thought for a moment I was talking about someone I've taught and raised in a dream."

She bowed her head. "If only."

"Vera," he sighed. "There's no excuse for what I did to you. Of the mistakes I made, in raising you and helping you—trying, but ultimately just failing," Lor said. "Even when I regretted leaving, I avoided you, bribed friends and mutual contacts alike to help me keep you from finding me. Even Mad, whose loyalty you would have counted as absolute caved to my whim with the promise—"

"What could he possibly want from you? He hated you."

He blinked. "A promise that I wouldn't kill all your friends."

Her hands felt cold and clammy at his words. "What did you just say?"

"You've gotten close to a few people—in the Alliance, while you were taking jobs as an Independent—sources and networks that you've made without me." He shrugged. "Of course, nothing kept me from watching over you from a distance. It was keeping it that way that made it hard. But among your friends, some were true while others betrayed you when I asked them."

Shepard didn't have to look to see the defeated look on her father's face. It made sense how no one _seemed_ to know where Lor was. He couldn't be that good at hiding his tracks. How long have people been lying to her—omitting the truth from her? And now, even Amadeus's treachery when she got out of her coma made more sense (though, he was very willing to betray Lor in return, so long as she went to Mad's side—she wouldn't mention it now, it may lead to something interesting later).

The Vera of two years would have been furious, wild—throwing tantrums, blowing up space stations and making people's lives miserable in general. The Vera of two years ago might have calculated a cold revenge for every person in her confidence who even dared. Until the very end, she would have thought, her father had molded her and manipulated her even without him ever being physically there.

Now, though, she was Vera and Shepard—Robin, Rachel, Alice.

And all of them, without thinking so much about it, laughed. Her sword, which was raised in her defense, lowered as she shook her head. Looking up and through the hole in the roof, beyond that she spotted Luna, earth's only moon, that shined down on them, as she did for her entire childhood—bright and cloudless.

"And that's the truth, isn't it, Lor?" she asked him, smiling up at the sky. "Everything just slipped out of your hands and you couldn't control it."

"Vera," he said. "Are you so cruel as to give it voice?"

"Oh no, Lor. I won't say it. You will." She turned sharply back, picking up the sheath of her blade. There would be no more fighting, not with swords. "Don't run from it, Abrul, father." She raised her arms to motion at their surroundings. "Hasn't everything brought us back to the beginning for this purpose?"

Lor sheathed his own blade, squaring his shoulders and straightening his back. He had sharper angles and broader shoulders compared to most salarians, he stood out in most cases but he was also League and Legion and he could choose whether he would be seen and wouldn't.

As Shepard approached him though, and they sat down together on the crumbling pillars and the dust, Lor seemed older than he ever did. Smaller, even.

"I was always strict with you," he said. "Meaner, less patient, less kind. I didn't have that much in me in the first place and I couldn't give you any of it. I didn't know how." He closed his eyes. "And I couldn't."

"Why not?" She asked.

"I raised you to take up the Legion, didn't I? I wanted you to be flawless, without excess—in mind and heart. No sentiment, no feelings. Only skill and steel." He locked eyes with her. "I wanted someone who would succeed and exceed me."

Lor opened his mouth to say more, and then snapped it shut—looking away. Shepard couldn't have that, she knew what he was trying to get at. Suspected for a long time that this might be what drove Lor, his underlying truth buried behind the trappings of flair and folly and falsity. "Give it voice, sir. Tell me."

"I wanted someone who would be my legacy, and by succeeding me, end me," he said. "I raised my assassin to give me a glorious—" He blocked her punch, flawlessly, and held her fist in place. Their eyes met like steel against steel.

So much for not fighting.

"You're such an asshole," Shepard spat. "You spastic, ego-centric, idiotic—"

"You were prodigy, Vera. The fight for my life would have been—" He blocked her other fist with his other hand. Now he frowned. "And now you're making this seem very ridiculous."

"You raised a child to _kill_ you! Who the fuck does that?" she yelled. "You could have just jumped in front of a transit hub and died just as well!"

"I couldn't just leave without leaving behind the teachings, the Fohral of the Legion. No matter how different the name," he sighed and they pushed apart from each other. Shepard huffed. "And you know I abandoned the idea—I thought I would die taking my revenge. And when I didn't all those years had already passed. You didn't need me anymore, Vera. And the Legion needed more and you always wanted brothers and sisters—"

"Stop, you awkward idiot." She brought her feet up and folded them under her in an Indian sit. Her head leaning heavily against her hands and suddenly she just felt very tired.

"I'm sorry if I'm smattered with gross imperfections, Vera. That I don't know how to—" He did some weird flailing thing with his hands and Shepard wanted to dig herself a grave and cry in it because it reminded her, so much, of when she was a little girl and Lor was feeling particularly silly. "Anything, really. Oli tells me all the time. And even if Julius says nothing I can tell he's embarrassed too."

"I noticed."

"I—I don't expect your forgiveness," he coughed. "Not ever."

"I wouldn't give it to you even if you begged."

He nodded, smiling. "Good. I don't deserve it. I—"

He froze.

"I what?" Shepard moved forward, standing as Lor doubled over. "Lor? What's wrong?"

"I—" He huffed out a breath. "It's noth'n—" He gasped. "It's the si-sickness. Old age. Gets ha-hard to—" He sucked in a long breath but ended up coughing—a wretched, hacking sound that had Shepard kneeling in front of him, her gloved hand against his back. He looked up at her then. "Don't look at me like that, child," he whispered softly. "Don't pity this old villain."

"I wouldn't," she answered. "I wouldn't even if you begged."

"G-good," he replied, and watched her start to remove her jacket. He was sure he protested. Even as his vision blurred a little and he felt something warm drape over his shoulders, he was sure, till the very end, that he denied that the child he had wronged should ever show him kindness.


	71. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I owe everyone 4 chapters before the year ends. There's really nothing to say (because life just puts you in places you least expect it), but here you all go. Hope you're all doing well and leave me a word, yes?

**Chapter 59**

Garrus woke up to the sound of his own snoring.

He blinked his eyes, scrambling for his omni-tool only to realize it was on his wrist as it always was and looked at the time—2-O-hundred GST. He'd been asleep for two hours.

He heard a snort-giggle from a sleeping Tali across him and a mumble that, he could have sworn, involved Alenko and a really tight suit (Oh, Tali).

Garrus only felt his world spin and his insides protest when he stood up, blood rushing to his extremities and alcohol running through his system. He envied biotics just then, with their useful amps that digested everything for them faster than the Council could say "The Reapers are real."

With the efficiency of Massani on his third bottle of whiskey, he lumbered out into the clean halls and down to the kitchen. He bee lined to the fridge, the cool air hitting him so fast and hard and it felt amazing, when it shouldn't because he should be in full armor (but he wasn't) and now he wondered where he had thrown it.

He swore, even days after, that he didn't scream when he noticed Shepard standing on the other side of the refrigerator door.

"Spirits, Shepard," He grabbed a bottle of some filtered liquid that was dextro but really made for quarians. "A greeting would have been nice."

She frowned. The lights were dim and he could only see her expression because her eyes were really bright against what very little light there was. "You don't have your visor."

He reached for his face, ended up punching himself in the nose, but then shook head and felt around for his visor. "Must'a left it."

She sniffed at him. "And you smell like cheap booze."

"Is not cheap," he replied, definitely not defensive. "It's filtered, though."

She nodded. "Cheap, then." Chuckling, he wasn't sure if she was amused by the fact that he could barely stand straight or if it was because his hand missed the fridge door and when he finally found it, he might have pushed it a little too hard. "You need help getting back to bed?"

"No," He cleared his throat. "Have you slept?"

"I got a few hours in, earlier than you." She smiled wider and he felt the back of his neck grow hot. "But we should be vigilant, we're far from dawn."

It was a dismissal, if he heard one. Sure enough, she nodded and started to walk passed him.

When Garrus grabbed her arm, she cracked back like a whip. All easy comradery fading with his drunkenness—she spun him around and he followed, bumbled, with the flow rather than let her twist his arm in an awkward angle.

Garrus's realized then that Shepard would make an excellent dancer at the same time her eyes went wide and she looked at him, and then laughing said: "You'd make a horrible dancer, Garrus!"

"Hey," he said. "I thought I did that fairly well."

"Uh huh," Shepard looked him in the eyes, then her tight grip on his arm and she loosens her grip. "Sorry."

"T'was a reflex." He felt his mandibles widen into a full teeth showing grin. "No harm done."

"Still." She withdrew her hand, held it close to herself. Looked away.

Running the fastest pep talk he could in his mind to sober up, he straightened up his posture and put his hands behind his back in parade rest. "Shepard," She shrugged at her name. He motioned his head at the couches. "Sit with me?"

She smiled at his invitation and walked beside him. They sat beside each other. His hands clutched his known knees tightly as she crossed leaned back and sighed into the cushions. What calming few minutes they shared, side by side—Garrus would probably deny any accusation that he wasn't as calm, that his smile wasn't as easy, when Shepard held out her hand for him to hold.

Spirits, he thought as he snatched her hand a little excitedly and she jumped but laughed afterwards. It's like he was sixteen again and didn't know where to put his talons or something (or not something, he definitely didn't know where to put his talons but Shepard knew where to fit her fingers between the spaces of his own and that more than made up for his ignorance).

Shepard laughed. "I wonder sometimes if we've mistook our dire circumstance for the best courting atmosphere."

"Speak for yourself, Shepard." He replied, alcohol making his throat scratchier. "I'm plenty suave, regardless."

"Mm hmm." She held his hand tighter.

Garrus's mandible flickered. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"What's ever putting you in this mood?"

She shrugged. "You want to talk about why you drank so much?"

"No," he replied. Bumping his shoulder against hers, he met her eyes in the dark. "But this isn't really about me right now, is it?"

"No," she responded, leaning her temple against his shoulder. "It isn't."

He stayed silent, just as he felt her breathing patterns slowed down. He wondered if she had fallen asleep against his shoulder and tried to curb the excitement at the thought that she would trust him so much to be able to relax enough to sleep.

So when she spoke, it was barely a whisper. But when he heard he shivered, as if the darkness and the chill of her voice made the room turn to ice when said: "Lor is dying. My father is dying."

"How," He paused, thinking. "How much longer does he have?"

"He'll be gone before the year is over." She leaned more heavily against him. "I've always accounted that I might see a grave or a body when I find him. But when I found out he was alive I had hoped he would be in better shape." She shivered against his arm. "To find him so ill—I don't know if it's worse than a corpse, Garrus. I—" She paused. "There's so much I need to prepare for."

He thought about his squad. The dead bodies Melanis had to bury alone and in his stead. He thought about Erash and how many more nightmares he would have to endure now. He thought of his mission as the new commander and the retribution he had every intention of claiming when his sources came up with Sidonis's location.

And then he remembered the young Tali whom he left in the room, who bawled her eyes out because her whole squad died protecting her. And for what? Some garbled information about an aging sun and what ever tags she managed to grab. Drafted messages she had every intention of sending to the families of those who've gone before them, dreaming of seeing their homeworld.

And Shepard, now, finding out she had a family of lost children and a father who would leave her, for sure this time. After years of amassing so much money and power, of all the travels and tribulations she had to endure just to find some trace of Lor, she will lose him to mortality. It was an enemy no one could defeat. And even Commander Alenko had only returned, half the self he truly was before dying.

"I'm sorry," She whispered in the dark. "But stay with me, Garrus. A little longer, all right?"

He didn't say anything in reply. Garrus just held Shepard's hand a little tighter. Eventually, Shepard dozed off but he waited for dawn.

* * *

Lor seemed fine once light broke the next day. Tali, despite a groan while she held her head, was also fit enough to call sober. It was Garrus's turn to tell a story, stuff he left out yesterday because he wanted Tali to cry her eyes out. And things he thought both Shepard and Lor needed to hear—because at the end of the day, Alenko wanted Shepard to join the crew and he damn sure the Commander schemed that Garrus would find a way to convince her on.

Lor listened. Occasionally, he would interrupt to ask for elaboration or clarification, otherwise, his silent nods urged him to continue. The salarian seemed just as disconcertingly regal, even if he had only half his armor on and his legs covered by the blanket. Once, Shepard stood to fluff up the pillows behind his head and urged him to lie down.

It hadn't even occurred to Garrus that the man was sick until he rested his head on the pillows and winced as he moved to get more comfortable. As if a legendary killer and spy would have so much trouble shifting in his comforter, like an ailing old man. He remembered his own mother, a legend in her own right, struggling to sit up one morning and her hand shaking as she lifted a glass of juice to drink from her bed side table.

"It is as dire as it seemed two years ago," Lor nodded when Garrus was finished. "I was in the Citadel when Sovereign attacked. I took my children to safety as fast as I could. We escaped to Kahje for a few weeks before continuing on." He turned to Shepard, seated on a chair to his right. "As Legion we can't ignore a problem like this that will affect the future of our successors, _haidalla._ "

She squinted her eyes at him even as her lips curved into a smile, leaning back against the chair. She turned across the room to look at Garrus. "I know I said I didn't want to be involved but with Lor and the Legion—I suppose I need to take a place in this war." She nodded. "But I cannot be in the frontlines."

"Why not?" It was actually Tali, beside him, who spoke up. "I think the Normandy could use another able body."

"The war against the Reapers isn't just going to take ability. It's going to need support: money, influence, armies." Shepard replied. "I doubt Alenko wants to rely on Cerberus for this. Or the Alliance." She smirked at him. "I appear to have a knack for getting my way. If I can convince more people to join the effort, then isn't this the best way for me to contribute?"

"Yeah But—" Tali stopped herself and then look at Garrus.

"The Normandy is on its way to do a suicide mission." Shepard added. "I can't die yet." She looked at Lor and smirked. "There's a future for our successors, _haidalla_ , and I will see it through."

Garrus really needed to ask Shepard what that particular word meant later. Though now, he had his hands locked together as he looked down at them. He felt disappointed, for one, to not have Shepard in the Normandy with them. But on one hand, he was glad she didn't intend to fall back into the shadows and disappear.

It was all a revelation and a relief until Lor opened his mouth and said:

"I could go."

"What?" Shepard blinked.

"I could go on this mission." He nodded, more to himself and his own resolve then to anyone sitting in the room with him. "If it's ability you need—I am more than capable of replacing Shepard and whatever place you've carved up for her on your ship."

Shepard looked amused. "Please. You were losing our last fight."

He shrugged. "I'll be the first to admit you've surpassed me a long time ago, _Ada_." She looked surprised by Lor's admission. "I am old and I am dying. But I am still very much alive. I think I'd like to be lucid on my ferry ride to the underworld." He smiled. "I heard the Normandy was a very lovely ship."

"More than lovely!" Tali added.

"More than lovely." Lor nodded. He turned to Garrus. "Well, Captain, what do you think? Do you have room for one more wayward wanderer?"

In honesty, Garrus wanted to blurt out a big fat no.

Lor was not just any other wanderer. He was Shepard's father, the same guy whom she searched for more than half her life. One of the few reasons she was still standing today, speaking to him. No amount of dead Collectors could match the sum of Lor's own passing if Garrus got him killed. The thought of it just the night before had Shepard so vulnerable that she fell asleep on his arm, a cry short of tearing. Garrus couldn't possibly hold the weight of his death, among all the others he's already possessing.

He locked eyes with Shepard across the room. Rather than worried that her father would die in the Relay-None-Have-Returned, she looked instead—he wasn't sure. But her eyes were large again, glowing impossibly light even with the washed out lighting.

"I just need to know one thing, Lor, before I answer."

Lor tilted his head. "Yeah?"

Garrus cleared his throat. "What exactly are you doing here on Earth?"

Lor looked taken aback, he stared at Shepard who quirked an eyebrow at him. Sighing, he slumped his shoulders. "Correcting a damn big mistake, kid. Unfortunately, that mistake fled while I was taking care of the klutz." He looked at Tali evenly and she cleared her throat whilst looking away. "But I have what he wants now. So, we'll wait for him to come to us." He shared a grin with Shepard that was all teeth. "Well, kid, what do you think?"

The grin Garrus gave the old master was also all teeth as he put out his hand to shake.


	72. Interlude XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> Have you all had a wonderful holiday? Mine was short as hell. But there are worse things. Like, not updating for too long.
> 
> LOL, I am going to shoot myself in the foot one day. Nonetheless, here is a chapter. An Interlude of one of my fave OC's. Don't skip it though, it definitely moves the plot along and brings us to the next arc. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking around. Hope this year brings us more fodder to write with!

**Interlude XII- Kindred**

When Grizz had tracked Legacy from Palaven, bouncing around systems to lose trackers that were possibly tailing him, he never expected that the end of the line would be a penthouse on the ritzy side of Nos Astra. Nor, did he expect to find Legacy clad in Ilium fashion—a black and gold piece with a mandarin collar, a long, sweeping hem and a pair of high, sharp heels.

He was staring at the heels a little too long, he knew. And Legacy did too because she leaned against the counter, waiting.

"Legacy." He snapped his spine straight. "I heard you just came back from New York. Crappy as usual?"

"Grizz, should I be afraid that you know exactly where I've been?" she smiled.

He shrugged. "You made it a little too easy for me, but I think others would have an exceptionally hard time finding out."

"Cocky," She leaned back on her right foot. "By the way, it's Rai Shepard now."

"Shepard then?"

"Rai is fine."

"Rai," he nodded, tasting the name. There was something natural about it. He was sure it was another pseudonym but it had history. Same as when she was called Lorraine. "So, being an informant and assassin really does more than pay the bills?" Motioning at their surrounding, he took a few steps towards Shepard until he was close enough for them to clasp forearms. "Is there enough space for a wayward turian?"

"That depends." She shrugged, but the grip of her hand against his arm was solid before she slid away. "Does Aria know?"

"She probably does now." He cleared his throat.

"You intend to return?" She smiled at him.

"Eventually." Grizz smiled back.

"Aria would flay you alive."

"She'd flay me dead just to set an example, Le—Rai." He bared his teeth. "Least she'd do is fire me and order someone to shoot me in some back alley. All noir-like."

That earned him an outright laugh. "Of course you'd be into noir."

"Of course," he nodded. "And, even if Aria says she doesn't have a flair for the dramatic— when we both know she does — she might just get rid of me that way."

"Well, it depends." Rai looked up at him with that shine in her eyes that made him shiver. In a good way. He was a pervert, after all, of course he wasn't afraid to say that Rai had very nice eyes and that they got his frigate soaring (woah, overshare?). "Why did you leave Omega and end up here?"

Grizz scratched the back of his neck. Wincing, he realized he hadn't shaped his talons in a while and the hide there was sensitive after he'd stood under the Palaven sun for a good hour, watching the bustle of the city he knew since boyhood. It wasn't as painful as the thought of the gloves in his knapsack, meant for her hands—and the dead man who made them.

"What if I just said I wanted to work off that filthy rock for a bit?"

Shepard blinked up at him, leaning back on one leg with her arms crossed. "Is that so?"

He shrugged. "Can't believe an old friend might want to work a harder job for better pay?"

"Fine." Shepard shook her head. Straightening her stance, she walked deeper into the apartment and pointed to her right, back turned to him. "You can take that room."

"You're the best!" He called after her. Moving his knapsack in front of him, he tried not to think about the weight of the lie inside of it.

* * *

Shifting from being an Aria crony to a Shepard co-worker, it was safe to say that Shepard was crazier than the asari. He used to think it was the other way around, but he was sure now that Shepard was probably the most complicated person he met.

Grizz watched her put the barrel of her pistol in a salarian's mouth. He knew he handled it fairly well, or as stoically as Grizz could anyway. She looked the poor old salarian in the eye, heels high and lips painted red. "You and your people have been watching me, Mr. Gonz. I'd like to know why."

The man's response was muffled by the gun. The scream was clear though when she shoved it deeper in there. Goodness, Grizz thought, if she really wanted to know why she would have pulled out the gun and shoved it up the man's cloaca instead.

"I wonder," she said aloud. "From where is your Shadow Broker watching all this transpire?" Her heel clicked as she stepped closer.

And it was subtle, really, how the salarian's large eyes—teary and dark—shifted for a bit towards the bookshelf to the left. Grizz swore he wouldn't have noticed that, normally, but he was sure Shepard was waiting for it because she pulled the trigger of her hand cannon and blew a loud and unmerciful bullet through Gonz's skull.

Unsurprising, Shepard didn't slip on any of the juicy, meaty bits that she stepped on as she made her way towards the bookshelf. "Grizz," she called. "Is the jamming software I gave you running?"

"You didn't need to ask, Legs." Habit held him to the name. She probably didn't mind it because she never bothered to correct him as she shot him an appreciative smile. Turning away, she checked low and found some auditory bugs, another was high up along with a camera between models of old tech and omni-tools.

Legs obviously got an upgrade done in the time they hadn't seen each other (same way the program she gave him was so top notch that he didn't think that his own omni-tool could get it to function), but her program just tapped into the software, found the sound bits stored in the temporary files—you know, the ones that off themselves after a time—and then played the sound bit, right there and then.

"We don't know who she is," Gonz's voice filled the room. Snotty in that salarian way and high in pitch — Grizz was annoyed enough to nudge his corpse roughly. "Or where she came from, there isn't a trace of her anywhere."

"Impossible." The Shadow Broker's modulated voice, Grizz knew from anywhere. Aria herself had sound bits from SB spies in Omega—dead SB spies now—that she liked to play when there wasn't anything cruel or mean to smile at. "There's nothing the Shadow Broker doesn't already know."

"This is one person, Shadow Broker." The salarian answered with a whiff of salarian arrogance. Grizz was being really racist, he knew, but fuck if he was wrong about this one.

"We will need to fix that."

The sound bit spluttered and died off—some kind of failsafe, maybe. Grizz wasn't sure. Though Shepard didn't look the least bit frustrated, only going over the sound bit another time, and another.

"What's the problem, Legs?"

Shepard looked up at him as the modulated voice rang in Grizz's head. We will need to fix that. We will need to fix that. "I exist."

She never said anything after that but Grizz could still hear the voice of the Shadow Broker in his head.

We will need to fix that.

* * *

Life always gave you warnings before a major event. Like the day he got disowned, for example.

Grizz should have known because it was never cold in Palaven. Nonetheless, the chill in his bones didn't leave him. Even after he made his way inside the hotel room, knocked on the door, and went inside with her- human, too human- arms wrapped around him and his talons, snaking past her underwear and finding a warm place inside of her.

His tongue had been slathering her knee, hooked on his shoulder as he had his dick plunged in her coo-coo-ca-choo ("Really, Grizz?" He remembered Legs saying as he recalled the story) when the doors busted open and he saw the look on his mother's face.

It wasn't as heartbreaking as people would have you believe, especially when he saw his parents as nothing more than sires, just people who popped him out of existence and then just, like cigarette butts, flicked him aside for another stick. The thing was, he was the only child for a long time and because he didn't exactly turn out as they expected him to—they had another one who was more suitable for their nefarious purposes (i.e. working their way up the Hierarchical ladder). He led a rather posh life, however. Posh enough that it was a miracle he hadn't gotten gutted and killed once he stepped onto Omega's turf. He felt like they could smell "rich imbecile" once he got on the station.

Still, he had been somewhat skilled before he got his paint stripped off and banned from ever stepping onto his family's grounds. And he did have a decent shooting arm, and a sense of humor. He found himself freelancing, and then eventually landed grunt work for Aria. Now that woman had a pair of legs on her, unfortunately, it was attached to a sadistic psycho's mind.

Not much later, he met Legs.

It wasn't her name then. Frankly, they barely spoke to each other at the time—just enough to know each other's name. At some point, they had been back-to-back polishing guns (waste of time to spend with Legs, but he took what he could get).

But the first time he met her, damn, did she make an impression.

It had been a gruesome few weeks. A corp or group had been going around blowing shit up—a lot of expensive shit—Kandros was on it and then she wasn't on it. No one actually died but there were serious injuries and a lot of money going down Omega's stuffed up drains. He was never privy to the solution, but everything stopped all of a sudden and the fact that the root of the problem wasn't a bunch of well-coordinated vandals but a single person. Well, it was just as impressive that Aria hadn't blown her head off the moment she stepped into Afterlife.

Lorraine, her name was. She smelled like fire and smoke. When she took another step forward towards the landing of the stairs to reach Aria, and didn't stop until she was in front of the Asari, the hearth was lit inside of him—a long, long time of chilly nights ended as she smirked, dark eyes lined with smudged kohl and said to the queen of Omega herself: "Finally."

It wasn't so much the way she looked or dressed. Frankly, she looked like someone who had been chased around and had blown a lot of shit up: covered in soot and grime, sweat and oil shining on her forehead. A cut on her cheek bone had dried blood there and you could see the wear on her boots and the scuffs on her gear. Hair managed, though, maybe right before getting up here (maybe Lanto had told her to go to the ladies' room) which was long and tied high in a ponytail. But it was oily too, and a deep red color and probably was just as gross as the rest of her.

Shit, though. Shit and spirits and stars, Grizz thought—(still thinks)— she was beautiful.

* * *

"It was Amadeus."

It was a baseless accusation, at best. Kandros knew it, even as she looked horrified for saying it. But even Grizz and Legacy (or Shepard—no, he liked Legacy) didn't deny that the drell was the first person they all suspected.

Grizz knew the drell in Legs' Lorraine days—he was a decent guy. A little fucked in the head but then so was Grizz so it made sense that they had mutual friends. The man's loyalty, however, never extended past himself and Legs.

"He could still be upset about the fact that I never contacted him after he left with the data," Legs nodded, leaning back on her right heel. "But usually he has some sort of follow-up. This seems like—a completely different modus."

"I'm surprised you're not upset."

"I received some proof that it might possibly be him from a broker friend. So no," she shrugged. "Not so much upset as perplexed. It's just—so out of his style. But don't worry too much. Grizz and I have planted a few snares, here and there."

"Mostly, it was me though. Because, obvious choice. And _maybe_ a few people are helping us." Grizz shrugged at Leg's look: eyebrows high, and eyes laughing even if her lips were pressed tight together. "Aw, come on. You know you love me. And my ability to tell the truth."

Kandros just clicked her teeth but chose not to argue. Which was good, because she wouldn't win. Instead, she shifted in her seat—the Vakarian's study clear on the screen.

Legs continued, "Until we get more Intel on this matter, let's concentrate on the bigger enemy: what's Palaven's take on the Reapers?

"The Reaper task force that was established here is doing well, Shepard. We'll probably have most of the Hierarchy interested, if not involved. It's just that—they're having a harder time getting the colonies on board."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Political pandering?"

"This maneuver is being supported by General Victus. While he's popular with the rank and file, he could use more—political clout. Nonetheless, his rank is speeding things along just enough that the Primarch is conducting more research on the things you gathered on Impera."

"And Aelia Vakarian?"

"Another main player—if she wasn't sick I could imagine the waves we could be doing now."

Shepard nodded. "How is she?"

Her tone didn't give anything away. But the fact that Kandros turned her eyes to him briefly before looking back at Legs spoke volumes. "The money you're pouring in is enough to get medical care for a city but— the rate of success was never that big to begin with, Shepard."

Shepard leaned forward against the desk. Her figure was nothing but a silhouette in such a dark room from where he stood behind her. "Can we hope, at least?"

"There are things they want to try but—"

"How much will it cost?"

"Shepard, your funds aren't the only issue here—"

"How much?"

A sigh. "Another set of equipment. More people. It could cost another 3 million, easy."

"Done. I'll transfer those funds in the usual drops. I'll need the receipts, Kandros."

Kandros sucked in a breath, probably dug her feet into the ground. A pose before shooting a Warp: you need to be grounded before pouring out that much dark energy. "She doesn't want the treatment anymore, Shepard. She's getting us to pull the plugs. Titus Vakarian is the only thing stopping it but he's pretty much convinced—"

Shepard slammed her hands against the desk. All of them jumped at the sound. For all Grizz knew, Shepard's figure hadn't moved at all. "Her reason?"

"She would like you to pour the resources into the future."

"Tell her that she could be part of it if she stopped being so stubborn."

The idea of anyone telling off Aelia Vakarian, of all living legends, was both terrifying and exciting. Apparently, Kandros thought so too because even as she sighed; she bore her teeth and chuckled airily. "You always know how to have the most fun."

"That's why we're friends, Kandros. Keep me posted. Shepard out."

Legs killed the connection, turned to him, and nodded. "You're in this for long haul now. I'm counting on you, Grizz."

He smiled back, unsure whether she was smiling. If she had some mask on. Because even when her eyes were bright and gleaming in the dark, he couldn't see much else of her and Grizz wasn't one to trust shady mood lighting to tell him the truth about someone.

So, he asked: "Are you afraid for Aelia?"

"Terrified."

An honest answer, he grunted in surprise. People didn't get that Legs' honesty was a scary thing, not a fortunate thing. "People die all the time."

Nice one, Grizz.

"Doesn't mean it has to be soon."

He thought about the gloves in his bag. How she didn't know he had them. How he wasn't sure he really wanted to hand them to her. How he hid them from her. How he hasn't explored the reason why he did that. How he, painfully, would have to fix that.

"Legs?"

In the time he had been stuck to the ground like a limp weed, she had apparently began firing up her communication system, there were more lights now. But she'd dim them soon, a safety precaution, so no one could tell where they were. Such a small detail, anyone could have missed it but her.

"Are you—" He stopped and cleared his scratchy throat. "I mean, would you flay me, alive or dead, if I told you I was keeping something from you?"

"We all have a reason for our secrets," she answered. Mercy? Now he was terrified for himself. That was never a good thing from Aria, how much more from Legs?

His talons dug deep into his gloves. "If I hid it because I thought it would just be painful for you?"

"Then you're looking down on my fortitude." She turned around, folding her arms against her chest; her smile was an amused one.

He reached back into one of the pockets of his utility belt—the one he reserved specifically for ammo but emptied just to put the damn things in there (probably not the wisest pocket choice, he realized). When he had them in his hand, he held it out for her to take.

He told himself he was shaking from the lack of sleep.

Legs understood immediately, her expression softening as she reached out with both hands. She hesitated, but only because she stopped to rip off the glove of her right hand and picked the knitted gloves from him with it. Grizz noted the deep scars on her palm, the mangled mess of them but didn't have the time to decode their meaning before she slipped one of the gloves on.

"They're perfect," she said, looking at her hand.

Grizz nodded. Such a human thing. His mother would have gutted him.

"And warm, as promised." She closed her eyes.

He nodded again.

"Thank you for delivering them, Grizz."

"He wanted to give them to you himself." Shut up, Grizz. Shut up. "But Aria wouldn't give him your location. He was," stop Grizz. "He was alive when he handed them to me. And now he's— If he went to give them to you himself—"

She held her left hand up to silence him. Shaking her head, her smile was small but even the shadows of the dim room couldn't hide the genuine gratitude that was there.

"I have very few true friends," she sighed. "To lose one is always hard. Grizz," She reached out to touch his arm. "Thank you for knowing how much that means to me. You've delivered Grundan's spirit to me safely. His death— do not for a moment think it's on your hands."

Grizz could only shake his head, just as he reached for his face to cover his eyes. He couldn't do much to stop the mourning keen he released. Stepping closer, Leg's leaned her forehead against his shoulder and hummed a song that made the keening worse.


	73. Interlude XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another bit that can't be an official chapter but I would say you'll miss out if you skip this one. It's a scene I've been cooking in my head about 40 chapters ago. Enjoy!

**Interlude XIII: Left Unsaid**

Titus Vakarian was no stranger to devils.

Turians didn't refer to them as such. As the Spirits had no affiliation, they just were. So figures of good or evil were never related to Spirits. Good and bad beings were mortal entities, flesh and blood, living figures. Turians didn't have words for them, but had adopted asari equivalents. For instance, it was a colloquial term to refer to them as _ardae_ or devils. And the phrase of making a deal with one was a human saying that he had been on the receiving end of one too many times during his career as a C-Sec Investigator.

He had never, not even once, considered them tempting. Anything that seemed too good to be true would have a sticky web of ruin attached to it. Drag it as you may, one day you'd stop being strong enough to carry the weight of the sins and you'd die, crushed under its foot, just another fool the devil tricked.

When Titus Vakarian had met Rai Shepard for the first time, woken from a coma, he knew immediately who she was. _Ardae_. But for all intents and purposes, she was firmly on his family's side. And for all his luck, his wife seemed absolutely charmed by her.

"What could possibly be better for our son?" There was that glow in Aelia's eyes. The Tinkerer's Madness, she had called it in her youth, when she would give up days of sleep and food to create machines and gadgets. "He's managed to seduce a creature that defies logic: smart, beautiful, wicked—"

"It's the wicked part that we both know is where we should be worried—"

"A wickedness that will be used for our Garrus," she countered, fixing her blankets so they covered her waist. "She's clever in a way neither of us were, dear. And we both know that Garrus is vulnerable to his own goodness."

His talons tightened into fists, straining his gloves. "And when she turns all those things against him? Aelia, these kind of people are not good. They'd sooner turn on you, right when you're most vulnerable."

"So they do," she nodded. "As is their nature. Devils don't need, after all. They want and they use."

Titus couldn't possibly stomach or fathom this. It was only a year after they had discovered her sickness. He could never forget it. The feeling of his stomach dropping, like he'd vomited out his gizzard. That day, he had found her lying on the floor at her work place, barely breathing, having hit her head after a dizzy spell. Everyone had thought it was exhaustion. None of them expected it to be a degenerative disease, the type that ate away at someone's mind and memories – Corpalis Syndrome.

If there was anything his wife had been proud of, it was her mind. When he had looked at his Aelia, the doctor's words washing over him like scalding water, something snapped in her. She had always left most of the affairs to him, barely dabbling in the family politics and the movements within the Hierarchy. Although she had maintained very close relationships with her children, she cared very little for the people outside the Villa. But since the announcement of her sickness, it was like she was the young woman he had met at the Cipritine Academy again, sharp as a whip and callous. Nothing was a mystery, everything was revealed under her scrutiny.

But now she was talking about giving her only son to a woman whom they both agreed might sell him to a slave ring if it meant her own gain and power. He had never known Aelia to be calculating or conniving, and he refused to believe that the Corpalis was turning her into something he had never known.

Or that he never knew her at all. Not in the 32 years they've been wed.

Titus had grown to his old age believing evil was always in mortal form. As he looked at his wife's contented face, muttering to herself about schematics and schemes, he now wasn't so sure.

* * *

"Marry me."

She turned back to look at him. A slip of a turian girl, red facial paint marks that belonged to a high tier family, the Lentinus. Frankly, the Vakarians were only mid-high—for all the work they'd done in military and law enforcement, though no one in his family history had made it past Brigadier General. Vakarians were doers, it was a waste to end up a pen pusher behind a desk or behind in the lines of soldiers rather than at the spearhead. His entrance into the Academy was just to take his diploma in law enforcement and then he would be shipped off, under recommendation of his drill sergeant, to be part of C-Sec for the remainder of his service. He was 25 now and five years spent in the Citadel was a welcome change of pace.

And right before him was his software engineering professor, not an age past 18, her mandatory service to the turian corps smashed to pieces. This was the woman who had designed the guns strapped to the hips of every turian soldier, the woman who had re-wrote the manual on the understanding of the Theory of Dark Energy. She had, all on her own, far outstripped her own family's standing in the Hierarchy and yet chose the life of a scholar rather than pursue politics.

Aelia Lentinus.

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. They were out on the school grounds, mostly empty now as it was graduation day. She had been dressed in the formal uniform of her family: a pristine and white military dress, a stark contrast to the blue grey of her plates, the tan of her skin underneath and the red color of her clan— one that is the same design of Cipritine, reflected in his own colony marks. But he knew he was drawing a crowd. No one spoke to Aelia outside of the classroom.

Partly, it was because of her intimidating reputation. Mostly, it was because she had a way of cutting into you that everyone found— repelling, to say the least.

Her displeasure was palpable. "Mr. Vakarian," she began. "As much as I admire your quad. I'd like to remind you that even if you were intellectually my equal, you are seven years my senior." Her confusion outweighed any possible disgust she might have felt for him. To Titus, that was a good sign. "You're practically committing a crime, in most societies."

He clicked his heels together. Stood straighter. "We are adults by the time we hit military service age, ma'am."

"Yes, but I like to think I have a whole life of possibilities ahead of me." She blinked, looking up at the cloudless sky. "And, it would just be a waste to get tied down by another family. Mine is already a headache. I don't think being bonded to another one is going to be any less a burden."

She had just referred to her entire clan as burden. If Titus were even to think that he would end up stripped to no face. "Uniting clans is supposed to make us stronger. Not the other way around."

Aelia shook her head, eyes closed and let out the longest, most burdened sighed he had ever heard. She rubbed her arm, slight fingers running over the white jacket of her uniform. "Look, I suppose I should be thankful for the offer. But I don't think raising little turians is a life for me. Might I suggest the women from the Fedorian clan? Strong military background. Can't go wrong with that, right? And pretty high up there when it comes to ranking. It would be just like you proposing to me—but better because they might actually want it, yeah?"

"I don't want to marry your clan, Aelia." He took one step forward. Then a second and third. The distance between them just a stretch of his arm away. "I want to marry you."

Her eyes were so large then. "You really are not joking, are you?"

Titus scoffed. "Who jokes about this?"

"Well, I don't know," she shrugged. "We had—what—lunch twice? Coincidences. Spared a few minutes of small talk? I graded your work—atrocious as it was, you just barely passed Mr. Vakarian—"

"You're too kind, ma'am—"

"I barely know anything about you," she punctuated. "And all I do know is that you're—old. And that you want to marry me, for some reason."

"Good. The most important parts—"

"And that you must be absolutely crazy. To propose to me, here and now. Or krogan, because turians can only have so many balls."

Titus covered his mouth. Tried not to laugh. Failed. Spirits, for someone who was practically a princess, she really didn't mince words. "I didn't say you needed to marry me now. I'm willing to wait, for however long it takes." He hardened his stare. She didn't flinch, not even a little. "I'd fight any suitor who puts his proposal out. It doesn't matter if I have to compete with the Primarch himself. Or if I have to wait till the end of our very lives. I'm set: marry me, Aelia Lentinus. I won't—I can't take no for an answer." He snapped his chin up, placed his hands on his sides. "Ma'am."

"Spirits," her mandibles clicked together. She started walking away just then, his eyes trailed after her as she made her way back into the faculty area. "You better be prepared to wait forever, Mr. Vakarian. I doubt I'll ever give you the answer you want."

"I won't know until I do, ma'am."

"Spirits," she shook her head as she walked away. "You are absolutely ridiculous, Mr. Vakarian." Her mandibles clicked together again. "Please donate the quad you grew to the krogan who actually needs it, Spirits. Otherwise, you'd just get into a lot of trouble with it at your disposal."

Titus watched her walk away, muttering about him under her breath. He finally permitted himself to laugh out loud, happy, that at least for the time being Aelia Lentinus may not be able to concentrate on her experiments if all she might think about was him.

* * *

True to form, just as he predicted. When Rai Shepard sent him a video call, directly under his personal line and not the Vakarian one, it had already set his teeth on edge.

He imploded inside when he saw the paint marks of his clan color in the shape of his colony on her face. Her smile was unreadable, and her eyes wide open as she appraised him and he appraised her.

Shepard was the first to sigh. "No need to look at me like that, Mr. Vakarian." She pulled at the skin at her neck, stretching it long enough to make him queasy but also to identify it as a skin graph. "The paint was given by your wife with permission to use it as I pleased. I know it's not my place, but I've called to inform you that I've been added to your family database as _drea_ , a consort. I have no intention to seek for binding privileges or wealth."

_Drea_ , the turian equivalent of mistress, in the human tongue. The shadow counterpart of a bondmate, a _srae_. In the old days, _drea_ were women or men who, for all intents and purposes, were spouses. Turians only ever had one bondmate, but sometimes bondmates were incapable of getting pregnant or grew tired of each other due to political bonding. _Dreas_ , were often either surrogates or even brought into the family to take care of internal affairs.

Nowadays, _dreas_ were agents. They had all the power and privilege of a clansman and spouse on paper. But they were also outsiders. Powerful clans took in _drea_ as extensions of the family. After all, even if it was very rude to ask a _drea_ how he or she was affiliated, everyone already knew that such connections were for covert political or monetary gain. _Drea_ painted the clan marks on themselves. _Srae_ had their bondmate apply the marks for them. The symbolism was as apt as reality.

He never knew any of his ancestors to take in a single one, however. So it was a first for him. "I doubt Aelia had this in mind, exactly," she shrugged. "But it adds legitimacy to my current existence, there is only so much paperwork can accomplish."

"Ah," he narrowed his eyes. "You're not asking for my permission."

"You wouldn't give it if I asked," she smiled. Rouge lips, white teeth, and bright green eyes. The vid call had her on the screen and she wore a dark dress that was tight at the waist. He could imagine what this woman would have been like as a turian, and he could understand how she could appeal. "But I thought it would be better to be presumptuous than downright shameless. As a man who values honor, I doubt you would be familiar with the inner workings of my position in your family. I'd like to clarify."

"I think I've been a turian longer than you, Ms. Shepard."

"Yes, but I have played this game for much longer." She held her arms behind her back. "It is my understanding that Vakarian political clout owes much to Aelia's position in the Hierarchy. Otherwise, it is a clan full of military men and soldiers. I doubt you would be very comfortable with covert agents in your family."

"We've once had a clan head who was part of the Cabal." Titus recalled his family history, begrudgingly, as revealing his clan secrets to a stranger didn't sit well in his gizzard at all. "And an officer in the Blackwatch. Though this was all a long time ago. I'm no stranger to the inner workings of black operatives, Ms. Shepard. And I know very well that they too have a function in our current societies."

Shepard put her hand up, a sign to halt. "You don't need to be defensive about it, Bal Vakarian." He flinched at her use of his title, head of the clan. He barely heard it outside turian space, much less from a human. "I'm not going to tell you that the existence of my profession is a noble post, quite the contrary. Shadows are cast because light doesn't touch every angle. My place as _drea_ is only that: I am a shadow. And I exist to help your family. One of those responsibilities is to assure your survival through the upcoming war. In exchange, I ask that I may use your family's, your wife's, and your son's reputation to speed up my talks with your government and any government wherein yours hold a position of influence.

"As a start of our exchange, half of my wealth has been made accessible to your family. Though I would request that the receipts be kept by Nyreen Kandros, my intermediary. A separate fund has been made accessible with regards to Aelia's treatment." She lifted her chin. Expression neutral. "I would appreciate it if you don't make any rash decisions for her, such as willing to halt treatments."

"Rash decisions?" His voice shook. His entire body trembled. "Sparing my wife the misery of losing all her memories and functions?"

"Bal Vakarian," she sounded like she was talking to a child who refused to go to bed. "Are you even listening to yourself speak?"

He growled. Maybe, in some ways he felt like he was young again. Young, with blue blood running through his veins and a willingness to shoot her through the comm. Spirits permit, the bullet would end up where she was now. And in her skull. "I know very well how powerful you are, Ms. Shepard. You could probably send all the fires of your hell to me with a nod of your head. You only need my family to lend yourself legitimacy, as you said. Which means you have connections that far outstrip anything I can ever know, or ever want to know.

"But don't think, for a single instance, that I am afraid of you. I am the Bal of my clan, and I can decide what's best for it. I don't need your impertinent attitude or your dirty money. This heart," he beat his chest with his closed fist. "Has loved and cared and nurtured this family. Has fought for this family. And can die for it too. We do not need you, Ms. Shepard. Not as much as you need us."

When she bowed her head, he thought the woman could actually feel shame. She had moved her left hand to cover her face, bare as it was, and heavily scarred. He was surprised by the appearance, the skin had healed ugly—and he was sure, that she must have endured some form of torture to attain them.

And then her shoulders started to shake, and he knew that sound she was making was laughter.

"Why," he said through gritted teeth. "Are you laughing?"

"Because," she replied while she covered her eyes. Her smile so wide. "That was such a beautiful speech."

"Don't insult me, Ms. Shepard. Don't you dare."

"Bal Vakarian, I would never. In fact, I admire your perseverance. However," she said through her fingers, her eyes glowing. So similar to his wife's Tinkerer's Madness. Though he never thought he would be at the other end of such a stare. "If you knew your wife needed your martyrdom to heal, then wouldn't you have died a million times over by now?" She chuckled, deep and insulting. "And if a dead father was all your children ever needed, then wouldn't you have given up your very life for them thousands of times before? No," she shook her head. "You know, in that heart of yours, that you cannot answer every single problem your family has set before you. Every mistake. Every burden. I know, very well, what ego you must draw this mistaken assessment from."

"You—"

"You love your family. Your children. Your wife. But you cannot save them from every calamity. Your odds scare even you. In the face of Corpalis, you're helpless. Your son's enemies loom ever closer to him. Your daughter and your whole family is not prepared for a war that is not an 'if' but a 'when.'" She placed her hand above her chest, the scar over her own heart. "Frankly, I don't need your family, Bal. There are many more influential clans who could offer me not just more but better odds. But you're not just any family—you're Garrus's family. There can be no replacement for you.

"So, let me do this for you. Let me be the shadow that you need to defend your family. I swear that whatever assistance I may lend had not been funded by something unlawful. And all our transmittals can go through whatever pipeline you request, provided that it doesn't endanger any of our safeties—"

"Why would we be endangered if it was legitimate—"

"Because I am extremely wealthy, Bal Vakarian." No pride. Just cold, hard fact. "You want to be sure you don't become subject of terrorism or kidnapping."

Was he making a deal with the devil now? He didn't know. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and sighed. "Why not use this money on your own family?"

She looked at him and blinked. The blooming smile left him more questions than answers. It looked all the starker against the color of his clan on her face. "Have a good day, Bal. I will keep in touch."

* * *

Today was a good day.

Aelia was calm, her expression neutral as she tinkered with her omni-tool. Only thing he allowed her to keep, in spite of everything. The last time they had left her tools and a work bench, she had tried to get up and make something she dreamt up. She ended up falling because of weakness, the bruise from that on her face was still healing. Then the next day, she threw a tantrum—having forgotten that she was married, demanding they take her back to the Academy immediately.

Frankly, he wasn't very sure where or whom she would be today. The girl whom he professed his love to or the wife he had two children with?

As he sat on his chair, the one they kept at her bedside, she looked up from her omni-tool and smiled, "Did you have a good talk with Vera, Titus?"

He looked up, blinking. "Vera?"

She blinked back. Gasping, she covered her mouth. "Uh."

"Aelia," he tilted his head. "Who is Vera?"

"Spirits," she swore as she looked up at the ceiling. "Swear you won't tell anyone, first!"

"Well, as long as it's not dangerous—"

"Oh, she's very dangerous—but you still shouldn't tell!" She grabbed his hand between hers. Calloused from all the scrapes and scratches of machine parts. "Promise me or else I'll never marry you!"

He chuckled beneath his breath. He was talking to the girl then. "Of course, dear. Anything you say."

"She's—" Aelia kept her mouth to say more but then snapped it shut. Her hands held his tighter.

"She's?"

"My daughter." Aelia looked up at him. "She's my beautiful, human daughter. You need to meet her, Victus."

He looked down at his hand, close and protected between hers. Then, at his wife's eyes. She was confusing past and present now, it seemed. But the smile she wore as she talked about this woman, this woman whom he had no idea existed till now—put a smile on his face too.


	74. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New arc!
> 
> Why is it early? Because life plans to flay me alive come March. Instead of posting late, I've decided it's better to post early, yes? See you all in April (hopefully!)
> 
> Help me by dropping a word in: encouragement, saying hi, constructive criticism are all welcome. :)

**Chapter 60**

"Vakarian, can we—"

"No."

"But—"

"No."

Garrus was getting tired of them now, these old masters.

Or more specifically, he was at the end of his patience when Lor and Massani were next to each other. Who knew a mercenary and a saboteur would work so well together and yet still gave you enough trouble to cause headaches. Even Krios, calm and steady Krios, shook his head beside him as they made their way through the sea of people in the heart of the Citadel.

He was thankful that Mordin, at least, didn't join them. Spirits.

"Young people these days," Massani's accent and voice drifted towards him. "They just don't respect their elders."

"True," Lor agreed next to him. "I was just going to suggest a detour to Dark Star for more data gathering."

"We've already gotten the information from Mouse," Krios interrupted. Blessed, reasonable, Krios. "Going to Dark Star would just delay our arrival to the station."

"But we'll be getting some booze and a few dances to go with that delay," Massani countered.

"You're delaying my meeting with my son for alcohol and inebriated movement?"

Lor chuckled. "Only you would call dancing 'inebriated movement', Krios."

Garrus stopped, sighing. Turning back to his three other companions, he looked at Krios first. He motioned with his head for him to follow and for the others to stay, much to the amusement of said others. "Would you like me to send these two away, Krios? They're probably doing the both of us more harm than good."

Krios looked back at him. His gaze steady, even as he neatly clasped his hands behind his back. "It does little, Vakarian. They are—trying to be comforting. In their own way."

Garrus huffed under his breath. "If you're sure you can trust them to help—"

"I think they both understand what this means to me. Just as much as you do."

"Yeah," Garrus cleared his throat. "But at least I'm a little more productive about it."

Garrus rubbed the back of his crest as he led Krios back to the rest of the group and they marched on in formation. Massani took the rear with Garrus on point. The latter didn't miss Lor's hand on Krios' shoulder as Massani began to recount another escapade on their way back to C-Sec HQ.

* * *

"I wouldn't recommend it if I knew there was another way, Legs."

Shepard had her eye on the Ilium skyline and an ear on Grizz, reading from his report on the datapad he held in front of him. She said nothing, but Grizz had that eerie knack of understanding what she meant even if she said or did nothing. She was sure that it was one of the reasons his post in Afterlife was just a step away from Aria's inner circle.

Yet, if she told him that he wouldn't let her hear the end of it. And Shepard was sure that's likely the main reason he wasn't allowed in. It would be a waste for good personnel to go just because they loved themselves too much.

"I don't want to meet her," Shepard replied, finally.

Grizz was the very image of exasperation when she turned briefly to nod her head. "It doesn't make sense for an upstart like Rai Shepard, ship collector and Vakarian _drea,_ consort, to not pay your respects to the hotshots in Ilium."

"You really like reminding me about my identity."

"What can I say? Nagging is one of my charming abilities." He motioned at his face, running the patterns on her face against his own. "Hard to forget when I'm reminded of it all the time. I have to admit." His teeth gleamed under the lights. "They look so oddly good on you."

She chuckled. "I suppose that is a compliment, since you despise everything turian."

"Not everything! I'm still pretty much fine with myself."

Shepard rolled her eyes before turning away. It had been Aelia's idea that she grab the clan paint from her drawer, just a couple of months back. She seemed sure that Shepard might find it useful. Though Shepard was sure Aelia hadn't meant for her to use it as leverage for her disguise, she had to admit that being tied to the Vakarian family, even scandalously, had its perks.

Even if she wasn't recognized as a bondmate, a lover or a _drea_ , who was allowed to wear the clan colors and colony markings was still considered family. The turian community in Ilium had been nothing but understanding, among those were _drea_ themselves (mostly asari) — it was apparently a common enough practice. The fact that she was independent and business savvy also made her even more amazing, and apparently the Vakarian family appeared to the eyes of others as a family with good sense.

Such a clinical compliment, Shepard would have laughed out loud.

What would be in bad taste was to reveal which Vakarian she was _drea_ to — it was supposed to be something others witnessed. And that worked well in her favor. What was important was that she never overstepped her place.

Unfortunately, being one of three human _dreas_ made her an oddity. And Shepard had been too good of a teacher to not tell T'soni that oddities were worth digging up.

Which meant that the asari had finally found her. No one else would have noticed but Vakarian was too intimate a name for it not to be suspicious. Since then, an invitation had been sent to the business extranet address every day. A week had gone by.

"She claims to know a solution to our problem, you know." Grizz rubbed his arms. "How she knew we had a problem is creepy enough as it is."

"What did she say our problem was, precisely?"

"She said she'll only talk to you."

Shepard snorted.

Grizz's mandibles flared into a smile. "My reaction precisely."

"Then she can wait all her life, if she likes." Shepard looked back out at the skyline. "We're under no obligation to see her. If she wants to speak to me, she'll have to come to me."

Grizz growled at her tone. "Love it when you're so mean."

"You make me sound like a bad vid-villain." She rolled her eyes at him through the reflection on the window. "Tell me, what's happening to my ship?"

Grizz looked back down at his datapad. "More or less going as it should. Joker sounds like he's ready to rip through the atmo on it. It'll be a while till we can go on a shakedown cruise."

Shepard nodded, she never expected for it to be done for another month but it was going to be a major hassle to leave Ilium now with a crew. Rai Shepard would definitely need a crew, a Vakarian _drea_ would need one anyway.

"News about the Hierarchy from Kandros?"

Grizz looked back down at his datapad, talon scrolling down. "They're being given a bone: a task group focused on figuring out the Collector movement. However, the higher ups are adamant that Sparatus was right about the Commander making things up about the Reapers." There was contempt in his growl. "So like a turian to follow the chain of command rather than the truth."

"Schedule a talk with the task group. It's important that we help each other. I have chips at my disposal that we can cash in to move things." She thought of Sparatus and suppressed a smile. The man would listen to Jane Shepard, he owed her his entire then some. "Sara's wife with the matriarchs?"

"They're maintaining their stance of neutrality. They weren't convinced by the reports the Hierarchy were willing to share and they don't want to lose ground to the salarians."

She clasped her hands behind her back and turned to Grizz with a grin. "Then we may need to ask help from the less obvious choices."

"Meaning?"

"Tell Devia that she'll need to refocus her influence on the elcor." Her smile grew at his wide eyes. "They may not have a council seat but they understand the idea of getting one: help win a war. Popular choice." She stood up straighter. "Add to the agenda for the meeting with Kandros' task force to open up channels with either the batarian or the krogan. Both would be preferable but we should strive for the possible."

Grizz snorted as he typed it up on his datapad. "Are we really preparing for a war or are we making one?"

She looked at him, long and steady. "What's the difference?"

Grizz sighed. "Busy, busy. I'll add it all into your new agenda."

She nodded at him gratefully as he fired up his omni-tool, datapad tucked under his arm as he turned to leave. Expecting only one message, Shepard opened her own mail to find another had just been delivered.

Opening it up, she chuckled underneath her breath. "Grizz, I think you'll have to switch a few appointments around."

"Oh?" He stopped and made his way towards her. She flashed him the message and he read it, grin widening with every word written there. "Spirits, are we good or are we _good_?" He put the datapad down on the table as he leaned against the window, shoulder against it as cars sped by, shadows passing across both their faces. "What are we going to tell Okuda?"

"To send you an invite, of course." Shepard closed her 'tool interface. "We're finally going to have some fun."

* * *

Freyda's Atelier was owned by a friend of Shepard's. It gifted to its clients accessibility to the main hits on Nos Astra, while providing bullet proof and tinted windows. It was as well secured as the Council's Chambers, with the added comfort of fur carpets and plush, crimson velvet divans. The fashion was updated and classy, for any race, as long as you had the credits. It also offered tailoring for the more elevated event goers, who had even more credits than a normal patron.

What it didn't promise was privacy, as bugs and cameras were hidden in key locations. As a certain Madame was not choosy about where she got her information. Fortunately, this fact was not advertised.

So even if Liara had people spying on her (which, of course she did), then she would have no choice but to enter, be recorded, be watched. Whether or not she knew this fact, Shepard didn't particularly care.

"How do I look?" Shepard stretched out her arms for Liara to see.

The asari moved closer, eyes more narrow and focused. Her own white and blue dress fit like a glove. "Does Garrus know that you're using his family name to gain clout in Nos Astra?"

Shepard took a few steps toward the three-sided mirror. "I doubt he would mind as much as long as it wasn't his credits being spent." She took in the Vakarian blue marks on her face, they were etched lightly into her mask to seem faded and old—as if she was tied to the family for so long. The front, of course, was that she had been in Anubis for several years, building ships from scratch; which is why no one in Palaven would claim to know her beyond the colony marks and the blue of it. "You can report it to him, if you are so concerned for his family's privacy."

Liara glared. "Since when have you and Garrus been close?"

"We worked briefly together, on and off, for the past two years." Shepard turned to her side, looking at the contour of her waist and not finding it tight enough to be convincing. Another dress then.

Liara folded her arms as Shepard slipped back to the racks. There were an assortment of clothes, still, to choose from. Next after that would be the rows and rows of shoes, and then the accessories and jewelry next to the rack by the dressing room.

Shepard knew she found the right one after skimming the third rack.

The dress itself was a dark navy color, blue enough but not Vakarian blue, made of satin. The sleeves were long, long enough to conceal weapons and scars and should reach the end of her wrist, the hem of which was hand stitched in geometric patterns of vines and leaves. The dress would made her shoulders look broader but still feminine for human tastes. An a-line silhouette was created with a flowing, pleated skirt that trailed on the ground and seemed almost too conservative until one noticed the plunging neckline that kept going down, down and where it would stop right above her naval. The high collar was lined with more embroidered vines and leaves while a thin belt cloth cinched tight around the waist area.

A good mix of both her preference and turian military, if she should say so.

Even if Liara's eyes were less readable, she couldn't hide the admiration in her tone as she said: "Do you even still need to try it on?"

"Never hurts to be sure."

Liara nodded. "Would you like me to pick shoes for you while you get changed?"

Shepard smiled. "Sure."

As expected, the dress was amazing. When Shepard stepped out, she looked down at the five choices in front of the mirror and chose the closed toe heels, covered with a lace pattern. There was something soft about it that Shepard thought was a good choice and she slipped it on and stood in the mirror. She nodded in approval when the skirt lifted enough to not drag so heavily on the floor. "An excellent choice, T'soni."

Liara turned away, hiding the dark navy hues of her cheeks. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you."

Shepard turned to the dresser and sat, checking if the dress would falter upon sitting and finding it still fits just fine. She turned to her sets of jewelry and reveled on the sapphire and diamond set to her left. She clipped on a pair of dangling earrings, the sapphires and diamonds cut to mimic a bouquet of flowers, while a string of diamonds dangled like a stem.

"You're still angry at me, aren't you?"

Shepard looked at Liara through her mirror. "You think you could affect me so?"

Liara's eyes sparked blue, but only for a moment before she reigned it in. "Just admit it. With the Commander's current state-"

"Him, being alive, is a good thing." She sighed. "Whom you sought for help, what happened after- as long as you take responsibility for your choices and Cerberus takes responsibility for theirs, who am I to question?"

Firing up her omni-tool, just to register her purchase as the automated 'thank you for gracing Freyda''s Atelier' sounded, Shepard stood from her seat. The strides she took in her new heels clacked against her path towards the door.

"It was never completely about the Commander, was it? Not even really about Cerberus, either." Liara's whisper carried itself so clearly. Shepard could applaud the room's acoustics if it wasn't so cruel to clap at this moment. "It was about me, wasn't it?"

Shepard turned around, looked at Liara's face. All blue marble there, nothing of the soft doctor of two years ago. Maybe a crack, here and there, but a fissure of some sort was always authentic. Yes, this was the face the asari needed to live the life she chose. This was the face she needed for the revenge she wanted to exact on her enemies.

"You asked to learn," Shepard turned around again, waited for the door panels to open and the hydraulics to kick in. "Congratulations, T'soni."

* * *

Garrus thought this would affect Lor more, somehow.

Granted, Garrus felt more affected than he thought he would be. He could relate to Kolyat's feelings and it seemed the universe had its fair share of difficult fathers.

He just thought the one resident difficult father would be a little less stone face.

"You look like you'd wear yourself out thinking." Kasumi shimmered into existence on the chair beside him. Coming from a few hours of scheduled calibrations after a mentally exhausting mission, Garrus chose the wee hours to grab a cup of hot chocolate and tried imagining a time when sleep was easy. "Anything I can help with, boss?"

The nickname gave him shivers, he shook the memories off like water. "Did you ever get to meet Lor before? When you met Shepard way back when?"

Kasumi looked up, thinking. "Not really. He was a phantom of sorts, in most stories. But then again, Keiji might. They were friends before I met Keiji." Her smile was fond. "I have to admit, I never really asked how they became friends."

Garrus nodded. When Lor came into the Normandy as a new crew member just a week ago, there was some tension. Mostly, from Lawson, understandably, since she had no dossier on him and not even a lick of info on the deepest, darkest drives on the extranet. And all anyone had to go on was Garrus and Alenko vouching that he would be a great addition, and even all that was hearsay from another friend.

(Or, well, more than a friend in Garrus' case but no one had to know about his inter-species liaison- no matter how many impish grins Alenko gave him when Shepard was talked about.)

Lor, as it turned out, was everything he expected and more on the battlefield. Organized but intuitive. Careful but quick. He was the perfect balance of controlled biotics and efficient mid-range firing. His melee was nothing to sneeze at either. His lack of speed was made up by weaves and deflects that would have brought anyone to tears.

"He isn't much like Shepard though," Kasumi said suddenly. "I was expecting someone more—"

"Grudgingly caring—"

"Yeah! But he's more—"

"Weirdly detached?"

"Oh, you're pretty good at this."

He did a pantomime of tipping a hat, something he got from Zion, though he did wonder what the phantom hat actually looked like. He cleared his throat and leaned back. "Think he'll ruin crew dynamics?"

Kasumi shrugged. "Working so far. Maybe not the guy you should worry about."

Garrus crossed his legs at the ankles. "Who do I need to worry about?" He recalled the skittish and jumpy Tali at engineering and the way she flinched when she caught sight of Erash.

"Me!" she said readily, right before opening up her omni-tool, the pale light shining on half her face. "Cerberus found Keiji and I need a solid."

Garrus sat up straight, breathing a little easier. "You're serious?"

"Of course," she chirped the same time his omni-tool pinged. "That's the info Lawson forwarded to me. We suspect Keiji is in a place called Bekenstein, on an estate owned by Donavan Hock. Heard anything about the guy?"

Garrus narrowed his eyes and nodded. "He's got a reputation that's reached Omega. What's your partner doing in a place like that?"

Kasumi shook her head. "Every once in a while we go our separate ways. We have different connections, as I said. But he's never been gone this long without correspondence."

Garrus nodded. She feared the worse. He could understand that.

"I know it was Alenko that made me the promise."

Garrus shook his head. "I would have helped you even if the Commander was able, Kasumi. All you need to do is ask."

"Good," she smiled. "We just need to get you ready for the party."

"Let me know when—wait, what?"

She stood from her seat, already waving goodbye. "I'll let you in on all the details when we're on the road. There's a bunch of things I need to get for us. By the way," she turned around with a grin. "What size boots do you wear?"


	75. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, just finished hell month. Running head long, full speed, into another hell. But next update should be on time. Can be earlier if I hear from you. Hint, wink. Thanks for all the feedback! You are all wonderful :)

**Chapter 61**

Rai Shepard stepped out of the civilian transport, feeling ruffled from riding first class in a luxury cruiser—she would have normally gotten on her own ship, after all. She was used to using her own things to get where she wanted to be. Nonetheless, her glide down the stairs was no less elegant than the dress she wore and her smile no less glittery than the jewels she chose.

The ride to the Citadel had been a rather peaceful one with only a few curious stares shot her way and Grizz's updates as they progressively drew closer to their destination. All too use to taking care of another prima donna, he had her bags sent ahead to their hotel suite in the Presidium, a mere two minute walk to the Council Tower. That left his hands free to escort her down the ramp, up until the security checkpoint.

The turian at the front looked from his datapad, to her face, and then stood a little straighter. "Ma'am," his tone was careful, even his sub tones carried a hint of caution. "If I may request that you and your associate deposit all your weapons at the desk. We will return them after the inspection, on the other side of the gate."

"Easy on the formalities, brother," Grizz said, even as he obeyed and unbuckled his belt where his side arm, combat knife, and extra thermal clips were strapped. "She's a _drea,_ not the new turian ambassador."

"Hush, Grizz," she chastised with a click of her tongue. "You're making the poor officer even more nervous."

The turian officer scratched the back of his neck, clearing his throat. He didn't say another word, and gladly let Shepard through the scanners. She walked through them with long strides, heels clacking against the floor until she got to the other side. Grizz was holding most of the gear, all Shepard had on her was the sharp pin that held up her hair.

Bored, she moved closer to the entrance, ignoring the blatant staring the officers were giving her. Not a common sight, it seemed, for a _drea_ to be walking around the Citadel. Then again, not many of them left turian space and the ones who did lived in asari and volus dominant planets. No surprise most of them were into the business of commerce, since as a race, turians barely dabbled.

"Now, isn't this a rare sight," the voice had a twang but not a prominent one to it that reminded her of Zadkiel, an old friend from the Dominion. But even before she turned to look at the owner, she knew it wasn't him. "A lady wearing the face paint of one of the most well-known turians since the Battle of the Citadel."

She blinked as she turned back to look at the man. Ash blond hair, drawn face but piercing eyes. Hardened man, by the way his face didn't change at her approach. The badge flashing on his breast spoke of his rank. She'd heard the former captain of C-Sec had been caught red handed on drug smuggling. Never thought he would be replaced by a human.

Smiling, she tucked the stray hair that had gotten out of her french bun. "You're talking about Garrus."

"The very one." His voice was softer now that she was closer. He leaned back against his chair, wheels rolling back a little as he looked up at her face. Seemed to be a feat to not look elsewhere. "Boy didn't tell me he was married, last he past here."

"We've been estranged since he left for C-Sec," she said, smoothly. "And never officially wed, for that matter."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Politically arranged? To a human?"

She chuckled, hiding her lips behind a gloved hand. "Your line of questioning would make a lot of turians nervous." She tilted her head in the general direction of some turians whispering behind her. "It is a grave faux pas to ask a _drea_ how she is tied to a family."

"I've known the boy for a while, at least by reputation. Seems—odd—for him to have some political marriage and it not have gone around the grapevine when he was still an officer. Plus," now he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Let's call this a C-Sec interview, since this is the first time your ID has come up in our scanners. Strange for a cosmopolitan woman like yourself to have never visited the Citadel at least once."

She smiled. "My, it's like you've never heard of forgery before, Captain."

He blinked. "Didn't think you'd admit to that openly."

"You could arrest me for it, but then it would a very dirty courtroom battle with an even dirtier conclusion." Shrugging, her smile remained fixed. "It is unusual for a _drea_ to be outside their assigned place. Even if they're granted the same rights as any Turian citizen—and not to mention, they're officially considered as spouses. And danger increases depending on the standing of the family. However," she chuckled. "My assignment is unusual, with barely any contact with the family save for when I make a transaction to their accounts. And stigma against humans are still high, even with position. I'm fairly disposable, in other words. That way, a prominent turian family can smoothly say their dealings are never against the law." She clasped her hands behind her back. "And I'm prettier than a volus."

"Hah," he leaned back against his chair again. Not fazed at all that Shepard was being used as a pawn by turians. Maybe just another story in the life of a cop. "More than that, I gather. Otherwise, we wouldn't have met here. Where did they station you? Terminus?"

The widening of her smile was slow and he cleared his throat at the sight of it. Now that he knew she had teeth, she stretched a gloved right hand. "Rai Shepard. Not forged."

Technically.

He gave her hand a firm handshake. "Captain Bailey."

Grizz finally arrived from the scanning and his own interview, sauntering over in his medium armor—one she purchased for him after a custom fitting, which suited him well. His mouth and nose under a mask, shaped into a gleaming mouth full of sharp turian teeth. For all of his complaining, Grizz cut a fine figure. Enough that a few asari looked and a female turian paused on her way out the door. Or it was the artillery, armed to the teeth as much as she was defenseless. He looked at her, then at Bailey. "Giving you a problem, Legs?"

She turned a side eye at Bailey, he didn't seem to notice the nickname. Probably thought it oddly appropriate since her dress gave a little peak of it through the long slit. "Just introductions, Grizz. Transport ready?"

"Been waiting a little too long, yeah. C-Sec suddenly got two sticks up their ass instead of one." He looked down at Bailey. "Good thing for them. Annoying for me."

"Let's not waste any more programmed daylight then." She turned back. "It's a pleasure, Captain. Do let me know if you manage to see Garrus." A wave of her hand and her contact details were sent to the Captain, he blinked at the ping, and then laughed.

"Try not to get yourself caught, Ms. Shepard."

She smiled, as she left, following only a step behind Grizz who called in the transport that they were on the way to rendezvous.

"Hm, not a fan of the pigs but this one seems to have a good amount of substance in him." Grizz said, offhandedly. "How long do you think it'll take for the info brokers to catch word of you?"

"At least a day," she answered. The shuttle bay was straight ahead of them, and the sky car was painted silver and glistening against the daylight. "Grapevine here isn't as quick, they like to double check when they can before announcing Intel. Plus, they're likely to triple check our background."

"Think they'd trace me back to Aria?"

She shrugged. "Only makes my story more legitimate. Unlikely I wouldn't have butted heads with the Queen of Omega at least once in my lifetime."

"Still, maybe I need a name change?"

The shuttle was there, after sliding in first, she gave him a measuring look as he slid in next to her. The doors clanged lock right before the shuttle car started to rise again and their driver pinged in their coordinates wordlessly. "Grizz isn't even your real name. Should be enough. Though, there aren't many disowned turians in the last century, especially not in high-ranking clans." A huffed breath. "Even fewer stripped to no-face."

"Are you trying to reassure me?" He leaned over and nudged her on the shoulder. "Or are you trying to make me more worried? Dunno which I feel more now."

"I'm saying, that you don't need to be overly concerned. Even if you're found out," she locked eyes with him. "I'll protect you."

His grin was wide and he offered his hand out to her. "Limited time offer, chief." He wiggled his three talons to hold. "And I won't even tell your boyfriend that you're a flirt."

She chuckled, taking him up on his offer, telling her gut to ease up because she trusted Grizz. Mind over anything else. Even through her gloves, his hands were warm. She looked down at them, smiling. "His hands are bigger. And he smelled nicer."

"Ugh, don't compare." He growled back at her. "You're ruining our magic moment."

"Hmm," she stared still. Smiled still. "Don't worry. This couldn't possibly eclipse the moment I held his hand."

He nudged her with his elbow. "You are mean. And a total sap." Grizz's smile widened. "You could just say you miss him, you know?"

Laughing softly, she leaned her head against the glass of the window. "I'm counting on you, Santoro. Let's wrap this up quick." The use of his real name got him to widen his eyes. "I'd like to see my kids soon too."

He chuckled beneath his breath, winded suddenly. Giving her hand a tight squeeze for a heartbeat before letting it go, but not drawing away; he kept their connection. "Can only move as fast as the info brokers, Legs. Let's be a little forgiving."

She didn't say anything in reply. Didn't need to when he nudged her again, and she chuckled. Closing her eyes a moment before turning her view to the Citadel. Two years fixed so much of the exterior since the Battle, but very little else had changed. Still full of empty towers and hollow politicians and business.

Yes, she'd very much like to be out soon. Hopefully, Garrus was having a more enjoyable time.

* * *

Damning N7 regs to shit and sticking to his own legion based infiltration makeup, he would say that he made sound decisions when it came to team composition balance. Sticking to teams of four to five members made the shuttle a little tight, but banter was fluid and the kill count had been high. Great, in other words.

He had picked primarily based on the following intel: this was an Alliance mission. Yes, Alenko had called him up to his cabin to relay that Hackett would like to talk to Garrus. The same Alliance that pretty much betrayed the Commander. Evidently, he wasn't pleased when he had been called, even if it was Alenko who was asking.

"I know what this looks like, hell, what it even sounds like," Hackett began. His holo stood as stiffly as his set shoulders. "But you have to believe that I gave no authorization for LT Commander Williams to even set foot on Horizon. She's answering to a different Admiral on this."

Garrus turned to Alenko, who was looking fixedly at the aquarium from his seat on the bed. A complete contrast to Cely, who met his gaze evenly and nodded. Did it mean that she believed what the admiral said? Or did it mean she trusted Garrus on whatever he thought?

"Alright," Garrus turned back to the holo. "What is it you want, Admiral?"

Typical Alliance fanfare, that it was. Collect a data packet from an important source. However, the data ended up in a dead zone, something about the ship going missing in the planet Aeia. The only reason why they suspected that it were two distress signals that activated at the same time: one from the SSV Gernsback and a stealth frigate by the name Elaina. The Elaina had the data, though it had no place in Aeia in the first place. But the Gernsback was apparently a ship that had been missing for ten years.

Obviously, that lifted more than enough red flags. Bringing a bigger team seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, most Alliance missions were always more than the intel provided. He brought Tali for tech, some muscle in the form of Grunt, some madness and biotics played by Jack, and Lor because he needed to see the old salarian in action more. For the sake of balance, he had Zion tag along and Erash to drive the shuttle.

Objectively, all their skill sets would have made them the dream team. In reality, it was more like Garrus had just opened the fourth ring of hell and submitted himself to commanding hell fire.

They landed on Aeia hot, on the shore, and raring for a fight. As if the planet knew, men in old Alliance armor came out of the woodwork to try and shoot them down. They ducked behind cover in the form of empty cargo boxes and the hull of what might have been the Gernsback.

"Tali, forward combat drone." He mustered the comm as he slid his Mantis back to switch to his rifle. "Switch to secondary gear on the small fry. Jack, Singularity at 11 o'clock on the cluster. Zion follow through."

"Uh," Tali hands shook as she typed up the start code. A 3 second delay to her usual speed. Garrus told himself to be patient with her, she'd barely been herself even when she arrived. She got the drone done at the same time Jack cackled once Zion's Warp detonated three floating hostiles.

"Lor, stay on the crow's nest and shoot down the flankers." Garrus looked back at the field. They had hostiles coming out from the open dirt road but a vast jungle on their left meant anyone could jump out of the shadows. Sea on their right meant a dramatic view. "Maybe get some sand on your toes, while you're at it."

"Already moving back," Lor replied and cocked his rifle. Empty crates provided some cover for him from the front and the jungle. Worse thing that could happen was sea monsters from the depths could come crawling out. Or angry fish.

A loud crack and warcry alerted Garrus to keep his eyes front, Grunt had taken a few paces too far from the group. Nothing new, Garrus thought, the kid always liked ramming into their enemies. "Grunt, after you're done smashing heads, move to regroup."

No response.

"Grunt," he added with more authority and still no reply. Cussing, he ignored Jack's gleeful laughter. "Tali, forward drone to Grunt's location. Zion, we'll move forward a bit to keep the people here from flanking Grunt. Everyone else, move forward when you see fit to keep it nice and tight."

Comm cracked with aye's, save for Tali's delayed yes and Grunt's manic laughter. As they moved from cover to cover, as quickly as they could. Grunt was making a real mess of all the people they were coming across. Although Garrus could barely complain about the pace, something about Aeia made all of Garrus' senses tingle with dread. "Grunt, fall back. You're vulnerable away from the group!"

"I am KROGAN!"

"He's a pyjack, is what he is." Zion muttered as he shot a Pull to two hostiles and Garrus took out both with a concussive round. "Not as cute but definitely as annoyingly destructive."

"For fuck's sake—can't you tell your quarian to pick the fuck up." Jack snarled once she reached them, turning a glare behind her at Tali who was tottering behind them, eyes on her omni-tool and barely on the field. "She's been lumbering around like a drunk krogan since we climbed into the shuttle."

"I am n-not drunk," Tali stuttered, falling over her cover instead of behind it. " _Boshtets_."

Garrus asked the Spirits of Battle for patience. "Lor, cover our rear."

A well-aimed shot at the incoming mech, one that blew it head off, was his reply. The salarian was a steady shooter, provided his specialty wasn't long distance. Turning back to Tali, she was just barely getting into cover behind him. "Tali," he sighed. "We've been through this."

"I h-had a few rounds, but I am n-not _drunk_." The last word had been punctuated with her, bringing out her arm and omni-tool from cover, shooting a sabotage program at Zion. None of them had any time to react before his omni-tool stuttered and died from the overload. That would also mean his omni-tool would be busted. Spirits. "What the hell are you doing standing there like a complete idiot?"

"Okay, maybe I should stay with her." Zion said as he ripped off his helmet. "Since my comm is down and all I got are my guns, biotics, my wits—which is a lot more than our girl here has," he pointed his thumb at Tali who was cursing in hushed tones even through the comm. "My tech will be back online in a few anyway."

"I am KROGAN!" A crack. And a boom. Spirits.

"Okay, that's it." Jack shook herself out of cover. "I am not letting this krogan have all the fun." She turned back to Garrus expectantly.

"I'm surprised you're even asking for my permission. But I'm glad," he added quickly at her glare. "Watch each other's backs, at least. All advance."

Another round of aye's and they moved forward at a better pace. Jack's biotics brought a little extra noise with Grunt's yelling and shotgun fire. Mechs sprung from the woodwork as they advanced, Lor at the rear and Zion making sure Tali didn't trip over the sand. Everything was fine until they made it to a settlement, high walls made of spare parts. A single entrance with no cover. If the settlement chose to shoot them they'd be vulnerable , or if the men from the forest decided to spring out they'd also be in trouble.

"Grunt, no more advancing without my order," Garrus said, low and furious. "You break rank again, and I will shoot you in the shins myself."

"Heh heh." The young krogan actually laughed. "I like how your threats are never empty, Vakarian."

"Flirting aside," Lor was last to make it to rendezvous. "Our place isn't strategic at the moment. I suggest haste."

"Right. EDI," Garrus opened up his channel to the Normandy. "Any aerial intel on the settlement not far from our location?"

"It appears that there are life signs coming from the settlement. As well as the source of the distress signal from the Elaina."

"Alright. Patch into the Elaina's bridge, maybe we can ask them nicely to open the door. Otherwise," he looked out at the jungle again. "We can try to knock."

Garrus kept his eyes on the trees, felt the breeze from the sea, and sighed. Well, considering their awful position and how great his luck was, it couldn't get worse than this.

Right?


	76. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has expressed such great support for this story. I'm really glad to receive any sort of feedback. While checking click counts on the chapter are telling, it's still so much more reassuring to exchange words with readers. Thank you for sticking around. Hope this chapter finds you well!

Chapter 62

Sitting ducks.

He'd read that expression once, in the Idioms for Idiots, Krul's gift to him for Christmas. He read the expression, laughed to himself at the picture of a duck, and then turned the next page. Humans had such strange expressions. If it was a turian book it would have said this instead:

Clusterfuck.

The picture would not be as funny. And the page, completely un-turnable. It would also contain a Guardian, locked and loaded, and shooting nearly non-stop. Followed by crazed human men, whose eyes had mostly whites in them.

On the plus side, they were holding up fairly well. All things considered. Biotic teammates took turns putting up barriers. Disadvantage being that Jack had more juice than Zion and Zion having about the same strength as Lor. To keep them from dying out, a turn based barrier was set-up rather than partnering up and having barriers made at the same time. That brought their offense down a little too many notches. As well as their total area covered. Though, Garrus assigned partners, in case they did need to partner up and possibly, run.

Judging by what was happening, it was a huge possibility. Garrus was betting on the jungle. He'd have the others dive into the water. He would take that route, but drowning seemed more problematic than being shot to death by a big ass robot. Plus, angry fish.

"Garrus," EDI's calm voice alerted him to the predicament at hand. "Although there are life signs on the other side of the entrance as well as the interior of the Elaina. It's appears no one has given our calls any regard—"

"Who is the Captain of the Elaina?" He was amazed by his ability to sound like they were having a stiff drink by the beach. Technically, that was happening—minus the drink, replaced by lasers and biotics.

"According to the data packet sent to us from the Alliance, it is headed by one Captain Ethan Ward. Alliance records shows that he has various accolades for achievements in combat, especially against batarian raids. His current unit is mainly composed of combatants and engineers that investigate slave trade and terrorist activity originating from the Nemean Abyss." Trust EDI's voice to carry over the gunfire. "Cerberus files suggest his quick promotion may be due to his involvement in Torfan. And that the Elaina is possibly a spec ops unit of particular importance to the Alliance Intelligence Network."

"So if he sounds so competent on paper—then why the hell are we still shooting shit out here?" Zion shot out a Warp with ribbing force. That finally brought the Guardian's shields down. Garrus regretted more than anything that he didn't bring down the Cain that Solus developed. They still had to cut through the plating to get through the soft gooey insides.

Took another 10 minutes for things to finally get quiet. Only when they all called clear did Garrus let his team sit on the sand.

"EDI, keep trying. Munitions check," Garrus turned to Lor first.

"SMG is out. Rifle at about 30 percent. Pistol has 4 thermal clips. Grenades at 4." The salarian looked back at his sword. "CQC still possible if necessary."

"Shotgun is out. Rifle at 30." Grunt sniffed. "Bloodlust hasn't been activated so I've got the stamina for another round."

"If you want to be our meat shield, I am more than happy to never put up another barrier today." Zion breathed out deeply. "Thermal clips all down to one on my pistol, SMG, and rifle."

"I can give some of my shotgun and pistol clips." Tali, sounding more like herself, stood up to pass her clips. "All my munitions are above 70 percent."

"That's because you were barfing in the middle of the firefight," Jack snarled, grabbing the clips handed to her. Tali's sass, more than present now after sobering up, simply had her turn away to pass clips to Zion. "I've got about 20 on the shotgun. The pistol I threw at the sand—I'll be sure to pick it up. If I find it."

Garrus nodded at the inventory count. He threw a round of protein bars, double for the biotics, which received weak cheers and a pragmatic 'thanks'. "I have 40 percent on my guns, still have some mines. Is your omni-tool still fritzing, Zion?"

The man shrugged, just as he opened up his protein bar. The shine in his eyes was unmistakable. "Yeah, can't let out more than 60 percent of my skill set until I get my hands on some hardware replacements. Serviceable now."

"Another fuck up by the quarian," Jack muttered between her chewing.

"At least I know my program is effective. I've seen your tool firewalls, Zion. And they are impressive." Tali took one look at her protein bar and passed it over to Grunt who took it eagerly and ate just as fast. "Who'd you get them from?"

"Well, they're not as impressive as your handiwork, Tal." Zion did his hat tipping pantomime and shot them all a winning smile full of bits of candied meats and other weird smelling levo things. "But it's an outdated program made by my old squad's tech head. Definitely needs an update after more than 4 years now."

"Come to think of it," Garrus looked up from his screen of stats. He'd been moving his eyes around to assess his team's shields, gear, and injuries and was still worried about the abnormally fast beating of Tali's heart. "You never really told us what squad you were on before."

"Haven't I?" Zion smiled, tilting his head to the side. "Could have sworn—DUCK!"

In spite of what Zion said about not putting up anymore barriers that day, he had one ready in a blink of an eye. Just as Garrus was conjuring the image of the duck from the book, just as he had a sidearm in his hand and had cast his eyes to the vast jungle, just as the single assassin's bullet shattered Zion's barrier into nothing, gleam of biotics fading and shimmering against the sunset—

A glimmer of biotic energy, dark in color, in the form of a lethal shadow, hid itself against the refraction of light—as if predicted, as if meant—the sheer brilliance was just as shattering as the kick that was covered in dark biotic energy, it would shatter any shield, if not, completely rip his head off his neck and all Garrus could do was sacrifice his shooting arm to deflect or perish—

Lor was in front of him, a snake's coiled body, striking faster than a blink of an eye, his sword out and silver—inscription against the blade reacted with the shimmer of his biotics and two powers clashed and burst. The shadow, unfettered, merely flipped back and landed on his two feet. Five fingers, violet blue recon hood over the head, biotics dark and coiling all over a lithe form. Asari? Human? Possibly drell?

Garrus' bullets were merely absorbed by the powerful biotics, sinking and melting, completely harmless. A cold shiver ran through him as the shadow didn't even move but teleported in front of him.

Lor, once again, moved faster than he could think and met another biotic blow with his sword. He moved with the fluidity of water, slashing and piercing and the shadow was pushed back. Good, Garrus turned away, back to the trees, as he yelled, "Scatter!"

Without being prompted, Tali was quick enough to know that her drone was needed and she sent it scouting forward. At the same time, a grenade came flying from their 2 o'clock, Zion's pull at the sand below the grenade (the man was full of great surprises), had the grenade sent back closer to the trees. The explosion scattered sand. All their eyes scrambled to adjust and Garrus took that moment to have his visor scan for life signs beyond the trees but all it turned up was darkness and cold.

"Wait," Zion leapt from his place to stand between Garrus and the duel. "This— Ariel?" He yelled at the form, just as he landed on his feet. The subtle shift of his body gave away that he heard. "What in the world—you're supposed to be selling furniture somewhere!"

The form stiffened, crackling biotics reducing to sheer embers. "Zadkiel?" The form brought out its pistol. "No, Zadkiel wouldn't work for Cerberus."

"My drone is down, detected two more hostiles a few paces from us—"

"Wait, wait—Garrus, I know this person." He grabbed on to his arm. There was a look in his eye that Garrus had never seen before, almost manic and very, very far from the calm, easygoing Zion they knew. "But I can't discuss it with so many ears." He pointed skyward.

Garrus cracked his omni-tool, scrambling the signal to the ship. Everyone's comm screeched. "Killed the comms. No bugs from Cerberus." He said loud enough for all to hear. "Holster your guns!"

"Ariel, call them off!" Zion wasted no time, running towards Lor and looking him in the eye before turning back to the shadow. "You're fighting the one person you wouldn't want to fight by the way, you madwoman."

The figure's response was to amplify her energy and send it coiling and rippling through her arm. "I know enough false angels. Declare yourself."

Zion put his gun away, hand against his chest he took a step forward. "I am mercy. By mine light, shadows dissolve. By mine favor, peace resides. For at the darkest hour, call mine name and the right path shall open before thee." The palm against his heart closed into a fist. "I know enough illusions. Tell me your name."

The figure put down her recon hood. A pair of gold eyes were sharp against the sunlight. Her face was angular, and her dark hair was tied in a ponytail. Mirroring Zion, she placed her hand against her chest. "I am wrath. Mine fire knows no equal. In mine hearth, the ashes of mine enemies reside. In the face of falsity, only mine light burns true."

There was some rustling from the jungle and two figures stepped out. One, walking ahead, had his blue helmet tucked under his arm. His ivory and blue armor was medium-class, but his bulk was solid. Distinct blue eyes, brown hair. His smile was so wide, Garrus thought it would blot out the sun. "Ari, we didn't have to go so far as to use our verification statements. Zion's ugly mug is identifiable as it is."

"That, and it's dramatic as fuck." Zion folded his arms beneath his chest. "And why am I not surprised—that sniper bullet was yours, wasn't it?"

"And that barrier was yours." The other man stopped far enough to be called polite. "Apologies for the rough welcome. We had verified that you were trying to reach our ship—but a Cerberus vessel trying to make contact through my personal line was a little sketchy."

"That, and this guy takes forever to answer his calls—"

"No one except myself is authorized to pick up that line." The man brushed off Zion's comment with the wave of his words. "Only a handful of people are permitted to access. I'm assuming your VI cracked through it in hopes that I would answer immediately?" He turned to Garrus this time.

"AI, actually. Sketchy Cerberus tech, and all that." Garrus chuckled. "Normandy is an anomaly of sorts. More ways than one."

"Hah, knew it was too good for Cerberus to employ non-human staff. Let alone have the head of the ground team be turian. Jokes aside," He held out his hand, arm stretched and stepped into Garrus' space. Very clinical turian etiquette. "Ethan Ward, CO of the Elaina. My XO here," he inclined his head to the right and the man beside him stepped forward. His dark skin and eyes, with impressive musculature was distinct. "Is Jacob Taylor. And you've met Ari. We got the gist of your calls and appreciate your assistance."

"Didn't seem like it five minutes ago," Tali muttered and that, actually, made Jack laugh.

Ethan took it all in stride. "You learn to take extra cautions when you sign up for this kind of work. Even when we had identified Zion, verification of your true intentions needed to be checked."

Garrus took his arm and gave it a solid shake. "Garrus Vakarian. If it would be all right to step into the settlement? Stocking up on munitions would be much appreciated."

"Of course." He started to walk. "Please, follow me."

* * *

 

Ethan Ward explained the predicament precisely. The Elaina had been en route back to Arcturus Station when they received Intel about the Gernsback. The XO, Jacob Taylor, had filed for personal leave to take care of the matter. As the Gernsback was his father's ship. However, the CO, Ward, declined and said they could make a vacation out of it and took the detour.

None of them expected that other than the distress beacon, none of their correspondence could get out of planet atmo. Moreover, the Gernsback had been reduced to a shell of its former self. Executive staff had, at first, done all they can to survive their ruined ship and led their staff to repair the beacon. Then, when they realized that planet vegetation drove people dumb and mad, food became scarce and precious. A power struggle emerged between the higher ups in the ship, men were exiled, women were used as objects to satisfy powerful men. Staff suffered from being forced to eat planet vegetation, lost their minds and much more.

It was sick in other words, how a planet with nothing in it could turn into a dirty representation of modern politics.

"We were taking care of the survivors. We have a very able medical bay and good psychiatrists on staff. Enough food to last a very, very long time." Ethan explained, all of them huddled on the sand, under a makeshift tent, as staff ran to and fro to get things in order. "Last knot to tie is to get Captain Taylor out of his high horse and answer to his crimes. About that time we were getting messages from your ship."

"So you had everything under control, in other words." Garrus supplied.

"Fairly, yes. But I'm not one to deny competent help. If your assistance can get us all off planetside faster, I have nothing against it. Otherwise, if you're in a hurry you can let the Admiral know we're all alive and we just need to do some tidying up."

"Wow, would you look at that, Ari. Our Ethan is all grown up. Heading his own ship. Making a lot of damn sense." Zion's stage whisper was borderline insubordination. Though Garrus could only muster a soft chuckle at Ethan's calm façade and the barest of twitches in his eye.

"I know," their biotic companion had been hugging her knees while chewing on a half eaten bar of levo chocolate. "I wanted to barf when I got on the ship and he started being—competent."

"I remember when it was Ethan who was coming to work, barfing—"

"Hey," Ethan called their attention. "If you're done making fun of me, why don't you join the rest of Garrus' crew as they restock their ammo, hmm? Show them Zion's famous southern hospitality?"

Zion looked at him, smirk fixed. "It would only apply if I was serving on your ship but, lo and behold, I have a real boss." He pointed at Garrus. "Who else could have kept us alive, under fire from a Guardian with no cover. Trez ben."

"Your french accent is deplorable."

"I thank you kindly, Ward." Zion tipped his invincible hat. "But I'm assuming that since Garrus hasn't stopped the crew from recharging, then that means we're gonna help you round up Taylor." His smirk only widened at Garrus' returned nod. "See? Actually, now that we have all the business in order," he pointed his finger at Ari who was licking what was left of the chocolate from her fingers. "Why is this firecracker on your ship?"

"Well, we met our old CO—"

"Old CO?" Garrus interrupted. "Zion, I thought Ward here was your former CO?"

"This guy? With the pretty face and the empty noggin'? Well, sure he's got charisma now, but when you'd seen him at his worse—"

"Vomiting," Ari said. "So much vomiting—"

"Hey—"

"Then you'd never think he'd make captain so quickly." Zion shrugged. "No, no. This pretty boy couldn't possibly be our CO. He'd die."

"Anyway, our CO," Ethan reeled the conversation back. "She called in a favor and had Ari brought in to help out. Basically, we're babysitting and training some of her protégés."

Zion blinked. "These protégés couldn't possibly be—"

"They are—"

Zion hissed. "So that means," he pointed wordlessly at Lor, whose back was turned to all of them. Garrus didn't get it and just folded his arms.

Ari and Ethan, on the other hand, straightened their spines. Ari jumped up so fast, she ran straight back into the Elaina. Ethan covered his eyes with his hand, cussing. "You can't be serious. That also means—" He looked up at Garrus again, sheepishly.

"Someone is going to tell me what's going on eventually, right?" Garrus stood, amused on one hand and confused on the other. "I've been told I could be slow about these things so I'm being as patient as I seem."

"No, no. Not slow at all. Especially since I've been told who you are—"

"You've also been really bad at names. Sad how that hasn't changed—"

"Shut it, Zion." Ethan's deflect was just as mild-mannered as the rest of him. He put out his his hand again. "Sorry, Garrus, reintroductions are in order. My name is Ethan Ward, I was the marksman and sniper to an ops team led by Jane Shepard."

It was only when Garrus held his hand, not his arm this time, that he realized whom he was talking to. Who Zion was (how he was possibly a spy, all along). Why was it that Ari could have possibly killed them all. Why she had run out of ship with three kids—a turian, a human child with bright hair, that ran screaming Lor's name—and a baby in the turian's arms. Julius. Olivia. Garret. He'd been told those names, over and over again, on the nights he got to talk to Shepard since they've been on New York.

"Ah," Garrus held the man's hand in a tight grip. "Shit."

His grip was returned in full. "My sentiments exactly."


	77. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this a little early to reward 7serotonin in Ao3, who not only decided to binge read this mammoth but left a review in nearly every chapter. Bless you.
> 
> Otherwise, I thank every single reviewer, reader, commentor, and lurker. I reply to every single comment I can. Know that I would not have made it this far without a readership. This early update is also for you.
> 
> This chapter is a doozy. Please read the warning (yes, I posted it twice).
> 
> Warnings: Mentions and depictions of sex, drug use, and just general debauchery all up in here. Some depicted behavior is similar to those with manic depression. Can be triggering.

_**Warnings: Mentions and depictions of sex, drug use, and just general debauchery all up in here. Some depicted behavior is similar to those with manic depression. Can be triggering.** _

**Chapter 63**

"As I always thought," Sparatus paused as he looked out at the view of the Presidium from the balcony of his office. "You were always meant for bigger things than shadow lurking."

Shepard could practically feel Grizz fidget behind her. He hated, more than anything, having to go meet turian politicians. Perhaps it reminded him too much of home? Though Shepard knew from Grizz's recounting and her own digging, that he had come from a mercantile lineage. Then again, she supposed any family making a significant contribution (monetary or otherwise) to the turian race would have a high place in the Hierarchy, and thus, would have to be politicians to some degree.

At least he wouldn't be required to smile, what with his mask of teeth on.

She could only speculate for now, but she would ask later. Right now, she crossed her legs and the black cloth of her silk dress shifted with her movement. "We were never the type to digress, Sparatus. Tell me whether you can repay me this way, or not."

"I would lose some credibility for changing my mind abruptly."

"You wouldn't if you presented the evidence I've handed to you." She pushed the datapad between them closer to the palm he rested on the glass table. The two teacups between them had been long emptied.

"You're perfectly capable of doctoring documents, last I remembered." Half-joke and half-accusation. The old turian had barely changed from when he requested her, rather, Jane Shepard's assistance to claim the position of Councilor. It had been of human interest, at the time, that a turian on the seat had to be neutral to humankind as opposed to openly hostile. The lesser of evils, she had remembered thinking then, but Jane Shepard didn't have to like the old reptile.

Now, however, she could really appreciate his cool confidence, as she did as a child. Even as he scanned the contents of her datapad, finger scrolling the words—she leaned her chin against her hand and watched him. How strange, she thought, how looking through her own eyes she could appreciate the way he moved.

She heard Grizz clear his throat, probably, more or less aware that she was distracted. Not that she would tell him that she was appreciating how another turian looked and moved. Or maybe he probably knew. She blamed Aria for enhancing his natural gift of observation by placing him in a post that did nothing _but_ observe.

Or, she was giving both of them mixed signals. Judging by the way Sparatus looked up from the text, there was a little more teeth in his leer and a little more weight on his lean. "It's a moving document, however."

"The truth should be moving, Councilor."

"And yet every great civilization will have a wide array of fiction."

"I didn't say lies aren't as effective at the job." A shrug. "If anything, a good lie can move more people than the truth."

Great gregarious gods, that leer. "You're saying it like it's a good thing."

"It could be a good thing. Or it could be destructive."

He put the datapad down and sighed. "You know, as well I do, that the Reaper denial faction is a political ploy to control humanity's standing in the galactic community, not to demean, but to scale."

"Yes, I think I know a balance of power tactic when I see one." She didn't sit any straighter, still leaning on her hand. There was a soft glow in his eyes, even as he scanned her face. "But I don't stand by any political body when I say that we need everyone to finally accept that a threat to the entire galaxy is coming along. There isn't room for division if we're all going to die."

When his leer shifted into a frown, she knew their little role play was put at an end. "And you're asking for my cooperation because I've been the figurehead of this division?"

"I'm asking you because I know you can listen to reason," she motioned at the datapad between them once more. "I was here, as you know, when the Reaper attacked the Citadel."

"That I know," he put his weight on his elbows. "The New Merlot 2180 we enjoyed that day crashed to the floor. I think you debated internally whether to gather what was left or to run out the building."

"And you've known me even before I became part of the Alliance—"

"Captured by the Alliance," he refilled his cup of tea with the steel teapot. "I believe that was the term Rolan used. And then dressed blackmail up with assistance to find a salarian."

"You sound just like Mad."

"Well, for once he and I agree."

"Did you know where Lor was?" she asked, breaking character. But then she told herself he did it first.

"No." Straight, to the point—fancy words were always less convincing. "If I knew, there would be no reason to keep it from you. Not if it would release me from the debt I owe you. And not if it could mean our alliance be discarded."

"Hm, I remember you getting into a fight with my father more than a handful of times."

"The old salarian was always insufferable. Didn't matter that he was different from the simpering mothers that make up the Salarian Union. Nonetheless," he leaned against the chair rest, heaving a heavier sigh. "His only saving grace is you. And I'd really hate to lose someone who knows their wine."

She smiled. "So, you can do this? Put aside your race and pride for the galaxy, even if it means possibly losing favor?"

He looked back out at the view of the Presidium. "Just two years ago, we were drinking Merlot here. Watching a view that wasn't so different. Right before things started to explode, we talked about New York."

"Your family has come a long way from there, Councilor." She was well aware that Grizz was now burning a stare at the back of her head. She hadn't informed him that Sparatus was a far older friend than some politician who knew her as Jane Shepard.

"We know whom we owe that to. My mother and father, they may be gone, but I won't soon forget what you've done for my family." He looked at her, smiling. Gone was the overconfident leer. "I will push my government on all turian frontiers to accept the Reaper invasion and to move along the projects General Victus stands behind. Rest assured, that this may also push either humanity or the asari to move. Maybe even the salarians, once they dissect your evidence to the finest hair."

She put out her hand, and as if rehearsed, Grizz produced another datapad. "This details possible avenues for you to strike. People in your circles that may be more than willing to shell some money, if it's a request from you." She pushed the datapad forward. "If there's anything you know I could address, then you know how to contact me."

Sparatus chuckled. "You're very well prepared for someone who assumed I would refuse."

She shrugged. "Had you refused then the blackmail material would have surfaced. Truly, you know there's no turian in this galaxy who has more influence outside of turian space than you? And so your place in our stratagems are invaluable."

That leer again. "I'm glad you realize my importance in this present era, Shepard."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Then stop antagonizing the Alliance every time you're presented with the opportunity."

"They make it a little too easy. And Udina? Spirits, may his human gods take him already. Anderson may have the Councilor's seat but Udina has strings he can pull that give him the real political power."

Shepard tilted her head. "Do you think I may need to deal with him then?"

"Hm," Sparatus laced his talons together on the table. "Find a way to control the man, then at least his puppets will be at your disposal. Otherwise? I don't think killing him would be such a misfortune."

"I'll gather the relevant information then." She nodded. "We'll keep in touch."

She stood fluidly, her dress had been more Ilium fashion than Citadel—and for many reasons she stood out even as she had informed the turian ambassador's office ahead of schedule. Still, to have someone she knew for a long time follow her with his eyes all the way to the door was odd.

"Shepard," he called after her and she turned back just as Grizz held the panel and the door opened with the kick of hydraulics. "You were wrong about me being the most influential turian outside of turian space."

He motioned at his colony marks and pointed at hers. "Give my regards to the Vakarian brat."

* * *

Truthfully, Shepard had been itching for a firefight for weeks.

In spite of New York being a high tension and high danger zone, her careful planning had managed to keep her safe. Regardless of the run in she encountered with Tali and Lor, what she really wanted was a real fight. Guns and fists, and knowing her, a flip here and there, a blade through some poor lug's throat.

Unfortunately, she couldn't get into any fights. There were many things that needed to be accomplished in the next few days. She would prefer things ran smoothly.

She combed her hair back from her face with her fingers, the ends curling. Taking their nature, completely untamed and longer than she had it these past two years. Normally, she'd keep it a bun when she was traipsing around and "Up to no good," as Grizz had aptly put it.

The hotel suite was a penthouse. Not as lavish but large, with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a full kitchen and a common room with a roaring fireplace, a large holo display, and a business desk. Not one of her hotels, but one owned by a business mogul named Hock. Hers was a little farther from the presidium commons and thus, a little more secure. But she had come to the Citadel for business and and had no reason to stay for longer than a week. Hopefully.

In fact, it was day three now, all according to schedule. She'd ask Grizz to deal with a particular case.

"How often does one get to book Sha'ira the Consort? Shouldn't I be counting my lucky stars, as you humans like to say?"

"Watch what you wish for," she reached out for a pack of cigarettes, something she bought on the way out of the turian embassy yesterday. The brand was something unfamiliar called 'Triads'. She'd searched for some information on the extranet after the purchase. It was probably the only thing humans and batarians agreed to like. Tapping one of the sticks up, she pulled it out with adept fingers and lit it, filter between her lips and the familiar burn as she sucked, held, released was far more relaxing than she remembered it being. The taste was as expected: burnt grass, old chocolate, leather straps.

Grizz watched her, watched the smoke. "You've had a cigarette before."

"Since I was twelve. Then stopped." She took another hit, tapped the ashes against the white ashtray sitting on the desk. She leaned against the edge. "Retook it when I was 18. Stopped completely when I got arrested. Till now anyway."

"Seems rather—like the wrong dirty habit? For someone like you, your character, I mean."

Same assumption she would have had of herself. Grizz really was dangerous. "That so?"

"Yeah, like, a smear on a white dress." He nodded. "Why'd you stop?'

"Lor hated it."

"Why'd you start again?"

She tapped the ashes and took a long, tasty drag. More chocolate, more leather. Better. "Lor hates it."

His laugh was more a cackle. Catching the grin on his face right before he slipped on his mask, she wondered how much of her this turian had figured out.

"I'm off, Legs." He clicked the safety on for his pistol and slipped it into his holster. Grabbing the jacket that he had thrown onto the dining table, he straightened it before moving towards the door. "Don't get too lonely without me, darling."

"Don't bang the Consort too hard." She dismissed him with a wave. "We want her to function for our cause."

His cackle echoed after him, even after the panels closed and locked.

* * *

By day six, the penthouse was like an opium den. Only, there were no hookers playing cards, no men in sunglasses in open shirts throwing money at the dim yellow lights. No one was hitting hallex on the side, no krogan bouncers and their blank expressions. No one high and drunk in one of the three rooms having an orgy or some nonsense like that.

However, she had kept the ventilation to a minimum and could barely see past her own hand. Just as Grizz left a few days ago, she had made it a habit to leave the penthouse—buy a few things, like a purse and a few pairs of shoes, and always, always a bottle of water and a full brick of cigarettes. For food and booze, she'd order from the hotel—and when the doorbell rang, she made sure the room was packed with smoke before she answered the door herself. Barely anything on but a pair of lacy underthings and a see through nightie. And, always, always—her new pair of heels for the day.

Only for an hour of every day would she return from this hedonistic rutt, fully herself, the Vakarian markings on her face a little faded. She'd close her eyes and recite the prayers of the Legion, do PT, and let the lungs expand and take in the smoke: the Reapers, the Collectors, the mission.

And then the cycle would repeat, cigarette between her lips, her body draped on the couch and her eyes barely seeing anything. Turian drea, some powerful family's tool for political and monetary gain. Pissing money like no one could understand. Using it just as fast. If she had a mother, she'd been smacked back into the womb and disintegrated before even becoming sperm.

And really, there was no reason to be so fully into this character. For one, she could have easily let the cigarettes burn and had everything in the penthouse soak up what it could. She could have just shown a peak of herself, every once in a while. She could probably think of all the ways this would be easier.

No reason to give into Madness.

Instead, she walked around in practically nothing. Smoked at least two packs a day, sent out inebriated messages through insecure channels to an extranet address that existed but was not necessarily connected to anyone and called him "beau."

 _Beau_ ,

It always began.

_There was always a place for you in my life._

She'd laughed to herself, muffled by the back of her hand. Talking to a phantom, a ghost. She imagine he would have double eyelids, grey, black scales, and a half grin.

_Beau,_

She never expected a reply and to all those who were possibly reading, that was a good thing.

_When was the last time we saw each other?_

She emptied a bottle of tequila before smoking another cigarette and then would pass out between the common room and the master bedroom.

_Beau,_

Again, no one was on the other line.

_Did you ever really love me? I thought we could trust each other._

At the end of the day, she would touch the markings on her face and look at herself in the mirror—all smooth skin covered in oil and sweat. Her breath just gas from booze and nicotine.

_Beau,_

If she could call out to him, she would. Friendship was like that, all sickly sweet until it wasn't. All syrup until it was washed and down the drain.

_You didn't have to pretend. You didn't have to lie._

On the eighth day, on the hour she was herself, she covered her mouth and stifled a cry as she listened to a voice recording of Garrus telling her it was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. He was there now. He was there.

She smoked only one cigarette that day and wished it was something else.

The raid finally happened on the ninth day, lunchtime. Rudely enough, while she answered the door for the room service. Granted, she really wanted it to happen on day six—but she guessed not all people move as efficiently as she wanted.

They were rough, of course they were, after all. She was a _drea_ , and even the most removed colonial clan prized partners who were strong. Shepard didn't feel remotely sorry for the man she had kneed in the gut with merciless force, nor the krogan she killed with a single knife though his eye, a knife she pulled out of the human she had kneed. If she were herself, she would have very easily taken the remaining six, practically naked as she was and smelling of smoke and alcohol.

But eventually, she would have to stumble, because she was Rai Shepard, a businesswoman and consort—not a deadly spy and assassin. When they took her down, her chin hit the floor hard and she saw stars. Struggling, the man above her planted his boot to the small of her back to keep her still as he restrained her hands.

"Now, now," she saw the flicker of silver and a dash of brown. A smear on white. She could laugh. He held something that smelled sweet to her nose. "It'll all be over soon. Just—sleep."


	78. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the past and the present collide, but in a good way. We all hope.
> 
> A little talky, but necessary dramatic irony, LOL. Ball needs to roll somehow. Enjoy!

**Chapter 64**

The Elaina's interior was pristine.

Of course, it was nothing like the Normandy. Garrus was aware, after Citadel was attacked, that his mother had played a huge part in its creation, mostly on the drive core. And although she had the aesthetic sense of a gifted engineer, she had never been a big fan of loud colors (or colors in general). She still had a military upbringing and when it came to color schemes and design at home it was always, surprisingly, his father's good sense of spatial arrangement and color matching. He had also been the one to choose their fixtures, and, had worked closely with the landscape artist for their courtyard and the grounds surrounding the Vakarian Villa. If it was up to his mother, they'd have a sprawling garden with vegetation looming and large enough to eat up the house.

But, yes, the Elaina was beautiful, albeit smaller than the Normandy. A full staff with soldiers that were trained not to look too long or too hard at guests invited by their captain. The meeting room he was brought to on the starboard side of the bridge was large enough to seat the officers in the Elaina's detail. Ten was an unusually large number for a frigate, however, Ethan Ward must be on his way up to becoming an Admiral, probably short a few years or a particularly huge battle.

Ethan Ward. Garrus knew Shepard had mentioned the name in passing, but he remembered only over a year ago that she had mentioned this particular subordinate, who knew how to play the guitar and had a nice voice. This was the man whom she had admitted to having held a one-sided affection for.

"Well, it's a little more complicated than I let on." Shepard had said over the comm. Important talk sounded like small talk, like it always did with her. Whatever time she could spare, she'd call him to leave these little pockets of information— personal or otherwise. Her voice was well missed when he tinkered with the Thannix canon these days. "We had been married on paper, but technically to all who knew us we were engaged. In truth, I was helping him through rehab and caring for his family."

"And he played his part to make it convincing?" He tapped through the holos, looked through the numbers as he calibrated.

"I always thought he was just being kind. There was very little he could do for me in return. But his daughter, Mandy, was the cutiest."

His translator glitched at that last one. "Was that last thing you said even a word?"

"It is now."

He laughed, lower register. Spirits, when did he get so flirty? He wondered if she could tell. Maybe not, if he was lucky. But he was never very lucky. "Why didn't you end up together? You said it became mutual, at the end."

"Our feelings were mutual, true," she agreed, readily. "But our desire to be in that kind of relationship was also mutual: it wasn't for us. We were better as friends."

"Huh," he looked at one of the statistic runs in his program and hissed. That wouldn't do. "Is this one of those human things that's completely unfathomable to turians?"

"Turian Unfathomables, hah. That should be a thing," Shepard chuckled. "We're making it a thing."

"Okay, it's a thing," he made it official by adding it to his translator as a colloquial term with a flourish of his talons. Shepard whooped on the other end, she'd likely done the same. "So, Turian Unfathomables? Yes or no?"

"Yes," she answered. "Though I don't think it's entirely a human thing as it is a me and Ward thing. It just made sense, still does. As a result, we're still very close. And I met you. All is well."

Spirits, he had no idea how Shepard had suddenly learned the ability to reach into his chest and crush his heart. He didn't even know the extent of his feelings for her, still trying to figure it out, not really having the time to.

And now, here he was, sitting right across the man who probably knew her most. Others would likely claim the title, he was sure. But Ethan Ward knew Shepard at her best, her most altruistic—how many people would offer their freedom to take care of someone who was merely a subordinate? She couldn't have done that for just anyone. And she never expected to be repaid.

Ethan Ward was Shepard's first love. As Garrus studied the man's smiling face, free of artifice or sarcasm, just bright brown eyes and a wide grin— Garrus could see why it might have been easy for her.

"Sorry for dragging you in here, Garrus. I—can call you Garrus, right?"

Garrus showed his teeth in a smile of his own. "Of course."

"Then, please call me Ethan." Yeah, damn, that was a really nice smile. "I've been really looking forward to us meeting. Though, I imagined Shepard would be here but I don't think we can be very picky."

"True. She spoke of you, sometimes."

"Yeah? Good things, I hope?"

Garrus chuckled. "Well."

"Ugh, that woman." Ethan leaned back against his chair. "She's like this, you know? Finds someone she can trust, she suddenly loses her filter. Lies through her teeth, still, especially about herself. But about other people? Her people? God, you'll get to meet them eventually. In fact, it'll be like you've met them before you actually meet them. Like now."

"Hah, I'm sure I've encountered more than a handful by now." Garrus scratched the back of his neck. "Mad included in this list?"

"He was. But the fool," Ethan shook his head. "I don't think it'll end well. Never does with Shepard. She doesn't deal well with betrayal."

"Who does?" Garrus scratched his chin, touching the bandage on his neck with blunt talons.

Ethan shrugged. "I forgive and forget. Leftover, I think, from a lifetime of not being able to." He held his left fist in his right hand, resting it against the glass table. Staring down, he smiled as if recalling something fond and lovely. "My nature had never been very pleasant. Deep down, I'm still the bastard who mowed down humans and batarians in Torfan. The idiot who couldn't bear any responsibility for—anything. Shepard and I, we're opposite in this sense," he rubbed his thumb against his palm. "She had always been kind. It's all hidden there, buried, by the things she'd had to learn."

See, Garrus thought. Here is one person in the universe who thinks the world of Shepard. He'd take her cross and then some. But they aren't together. Why?

It surprised him how clinically he was pondering all this. Even if the thought of Shepard being with someone else made his throat catch fire. "I've been wondering something. You know, before we begin to talk business. Uh," he scratched his chin again with a talon. "Shepard answered me before. But it wasn't very clear to me."

"Oh?" Ethan leaned forward. "What about?"

"Why is it that you guys aren't together? I mean, you obviously still love her." Garrus blurted. He would step on his own foot if he could. Mei-mei used to do it to Vortash all the time when he was about to say something stupid and she always seemed to know when that would happen.

Garrus currently didn't have that luxury.

Ethan blinked once. Twice. His lips set in a neutral line lifted upward. This was not the charming smile he had been showing. This was likely the deadly officer who executed his men and the batarians in Torfan. The Butcher, Garrus recalled from Shepard, and if he was a lesser man he might have cowered from the sudden change in character.

"I suppose, if I really wanted to be with Shepard, then we wouldn't be having this conversation." Ethan tilted his head, soft hair falling out of place from the slicked back, combed style. Spirits, if he had been turian even Garrus could imagine how handsome he would look even to his own race. "But to love someone and want to be together and to love someone just because? I always thought there was a big difference."

"So," Garrus cleared his throat. Spirits, someone should just knock him out somehow. "You don't want to be together?"

"We don't belong together. Putting it plainly. We could probably have a very pleasant married life or something. But I, well we, wouldn't want that for each other." Ethan sighed. "Does it bother you, Garrus? As far I know, Shepard's feelings for me have mellowed out. I suppose she sees me more like the childhood friend she was obligated to marry as a child? Hm, that seems a little too close to the truth."

As Ethan thought of some really complicated analogy, Garrus leaned back against his chair. Turian Unfathomable, he was sure he'd never really get why they made the decision. At least never completely, but the idea that Shepard might not ever be truly happy with him—that maybe she had better options? It filled him with something inexplicable, hollowing.

"I don't want someone closer to home," he had told Shepard. "I want someone I can trust. I want you. Well?" He had told her this and he had meant it. But did he really—no was he really what she needed?

"You have her," Ethan's voice sliced through his thoughts with clean precision. Garrus must have given himself away somehow. "You've got her. She went to you first, didn't she? Don't doubt it. She's a liar and a fraud but never about this. Don't squander it."

Oh, Garrus swallowed. Closing his eyes, he could imagine now what was going through Ethan's mind. He was sure, that Ethan wouldn't have entirely minded a pleasant life with Shepard. Maybe even desired it. But the soft look on the man's face— no artifice or sarcasm— he likely doubted, for one too many moments, his position in Shepard's life. And knowing Shepard, she offered no sign or signal to make him think otherwise.

It would, after all, be the assurance of a liar and a fraud.

See, he thought, here's someone who knew how Shepard was and still doubted. What about you? Do think you could fare better?

Garrus had no idea. But he was damn well going to try. Hell, he even had the ex's blessing. And if he played his cards right, maybe Shepard's other people would be more than happy to have him around.

Garrus cleared his throat. "Thanks."

Ethan smiled. "You're welcome."

"So," Garrus leaned forward, clearing his throat. "Did you require any more assistance? Do you need help returning to Alliance space?"

The young captain laughed, tipping back as he mirrored Garrus's movement afterwards. "You've done more than enough. We'll make sure Captain Taylor rots in prison for a very, very long time. I don't think what he did to his own crew will leave me for a while."

Garrus nodded. "How have the children been? Do you need any help there?"

Ethan shook his head. "They're more or less obedient. Less obedient being Oli, more for Julius. But Ari keeps them in line, like a drill sergeant, that one. Garret misses Shepard, though. And he's already standing upright. He'll be walking soon, which is a milestone she said she didn't want to miss. Mind telling that madwoman to hurry along whatever the hell she's been cooking up?"

Garrus sighed in return. "I would, if I could. But even I don't know what she's been doing, specifically. Nor can I contact any of her old addresses."

Ethan tutted. "Last I heard she was headed to the Citadel so she would normally be easy to contact or, well, she would be more active about keeping in touch."

Both of them visibly shivered, probably a passing chill or instinct. Either way, not good.

"Jesus," Ethan chuckled. "The last time I felt dread like that, I think, was when I heard she was in the Citadel during that battle two years ago. Hope she hasn't gotten herself into something crazy." He leaned his hands against the table to help himself stand. "Shall we wrap this up now?"

Garrus stood from his seat. "Agreed."

* * *

The ground team had been waiting for him inside the shuttle by the time he left through the airlock. Ethan was right behind him, being a silent escort. As Garrus turned to give his arm one last shake and a nod farewell, he noticed a tiny figure bounding towards them.

"Hey!" A child with silver hair, a tiny little thing who looked up at him with brown, large eyes. Even Garrus found himself transfixed by how—ethereal, she seemed. "Hey," she repeated softer this time when she stopped in front of him.

"Yes?" Garrus got down on one knee, meeting the girl's eyes. "What do you need?"

She looked at him, eyes wider now. Studying his face, she frowned. Then she glared.

Garrus tilted his head. "Uh, is there a problem?"

"Please take care of my father, Garrus," she blurted. "Please," she added more softly. "Keep him safe."

He blinked. He took a glance at Ethan who was covering his mouth with a gloved hand. Though his eyes gave away that he was laughing in the inside.

"I'll do my best, Oli," he replied, solemnly.

The kid's eyes watered. "Thank you. Also," she bounded towards him, fast as a Blix on stims. Her little arms wrapped around his neck and she squeezed. "Give Shepard a big hug for me when you see her. Tell her I wanna see her soon. Promise?"

"Uh, promise."

The hold was brief and tight and she ran very fast back into the ship without so much as a word of thanks.

Garrus barely had time to process she had left when he blinked, shaking his head as he patted the sand off his armor. "Did that just happen?"

"Yes," Ethan answered.

"Tiny storm that one."

The young captain laughed, holding out his arm for a shake. "It was great meeting you, Garrus. Hope the next we see each other, the subject of our conversation would be present."

"Likewise, Ethan." He took the arm again. "Keep safe."

" _Aravesh veran,_ Garrus." Ethan returned his strong grip. "Ask Shepard what that means, next you see her. She'll be impressed and maybe a little embarrassed."

"Hah. That," he cracked a smile full of time teeth. "I would believe when I see it."


	79. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before you throw fire and pitchforks in my general direction, all I can say is that I'll have another chapter up within the week to make up for how short this chapter is? Actually, the real reason is because I missed July but sssshh.
> 
> LOL, I know you can all deal with it. You've endured worse in this roller coaster of a fic.
> 
> Truthfully, I'll have bursts of inspiration and then just wallow into a slump. Real talk: it's been hard to keep going. Really, really hard. This fic was made to celebrate the ShepardxGarrus ship but it's also became more than that. Part fix it, part escape from reality, and part sharing to others just because. Is it a masterpiece? Meh. But if you love it, then thank you. If you don't, move on.
> 
> Before anything I've got shout out to my new readers for leaving plentiful and inspiring words: Andenalli, and Chris.
> 
> And of course, for the support of intelligent and sensible reader/chat buddy/source of sanity: MagyarEagle.
> 
> And, more than anyone, shout out again to Elantil. Who has been with me since practically the beginning. You're all great. Thanks for getting me through this.
> 
> Enjoy! See you in a bit (hopefully).

**Chapter 65**

Garrus had a debrief with the ground team and Miranda Lawson. The woman obviously miffed that there was so many pockets of time wherein the comms had been shut down and even deliberately jammed.

"What if something happened while you—" She moved her hand between the crew, angry face a dissonant mirror to her confused, stuttered motions. "Did what you were doing?"

"Well, something did happen but it wasn't any of Illusive Prick's business," Jack spat.

"What Jack means," Zion interjected before Miranda could retort. By her glare, she had been ready to let a few choice words fly. "Is that there was some—sensitive information shared that Cerberus could use against Garrus. So, smart guy that he is, he had the comms cut. I can include whatever details you missed out in my report, if I can remember them."

Garrus had to hand it to Zion, even if it was his order that Garrus had the comms jammed, none of that had made it as a recording in the comm traffic. He was deathly sure Zion had been a real asset in Shepard's unit. How many Sentinel class soldiers knew comm buoy dissemination to such a fine point? Criminal past maybe? But somehow he doubted Zion had ever been part of such things the same way Shepard or Ward seemed, even if manipulating comms to that extent was very, very illegal. Call it a hunch.

Everyone in the ground team had varying expressions of indifference or impishness. Which, of course, did nothing to make Lawson less furious. Garrus took it as his cue to help.

Garrus cleared his throat. "It wasn't anything detrimental to Cerberus, Lawson. So, set your mind at ease."

Her face barely softened. Whoops.

"You're writing a mission report on this as well, Vakarian. I want the details that Zion doesn't remember—whatever it is you can spare that isn't—" She did that hand thing again. "Whatever it is you're hiding."

"It was Alliance Intel," Lor cut through the tension with even more tension. For a salarian, his voice was octaves lower, still high as the salarian nasal passages did nothing but hamper. But even as he lied, his eyes were clear and sharp. He didn't stare directly at you, as most liars did, but his body and his voice gave nothing away. "It was more detrimental to Alenko than to Vakarian. But I suppose close friends affect each other that way."

Lawson still had twenty seven different reasons why she didn't want him on the ship. He couldn't remember every single one but it had been draining, to say the least, to have an XO who had a stick shoved up her ass. He now felt immensely sorry for the whole Normandy SR-1 who had to deal with him, if Joker was a good source of information. "Are you volunteering to do a report as well, Lor?"

He brought up his arm, tapping at his tool's UI without as much as blinking. Only a few seconds and Lawson's extranet address chimed. "And I have a good memory. Nonetheless, everything related to Alenko's business had not been added."

Lawson looked up from her holo, eyes narrowed and lips set in a straight line. "Very well. Unless you have anything to add, Vakarian, I believe we're done here."

"Right. Everyone's dismissed." He waited for Miranda to turn to leave before he gave them all a look that said 'We are not done here. Do not move.' And although everyone made a farce of standing and fixing their chairs, once Miranda was out the door—she turned sharply back to send them all a glare that spoke volumes before the hydraulics kicked and the doors locked. Garrus brought up his jammer. "Sorry, EDI."

"It is understandable," the AI chimed. "Logging you out, Garrus."

He killed the devices. Tali and Zion triple checked. They were using the room that connected to The Illusive Man, it wouldn't be bad to follow every pre-caution.

"I feel a little bad for Lawson, just a little." Zion sat back down, sighing. "She knows exactly what we're doin' in here and she knows exactly why she ain't part of it. I'm also very, very sure she has a heavy case of FOMO but that's just my take on it."

"Exactly how long have you been Cerberus' ticking time bomb?" Jack leaned over to take a good look at him. Her grin was not a pleasant one.

"Since I quit the Alliance," he shrugged. "Been a mole for my aunt who probably has a heavy case of FOMO too. Info broker disease, methinks. Plus," he leaned against the glass table on his elbow. "My former CO pays me a little on the side to let her know whatever little side projects Cerberus conducts and then, when she feels like it, she goes over there to blow it sky high."

"What I want to know," Tali interjected. "Is how you haven't been found out. It's not like you're even really trying to hide it exactly."

"Well, that's the funny thing. If you're a loudmouth and a general nuisance but you get the job done, everyone tries to avoid you on the social front and at the same time—they don't mind teaming up because hey, hard worker here."

"But there must have been someone who wanted to get ahead of the game by reporting a potential spy in their ranks."

"You know how your report actually has to get to where it needs to go for formal action to take place?" Zion looked at his fingernails like they were the most important thing in the world. "And even if it does, what if your former CO knew how to handle noisy dogs?"

"Hah!" Grunt boomed. "We've had such a formidable ally this entire time?"

"I need to shake this woman's hand," Jack crossed her arms against her chest. "She's exactly whom we should bring along when we decide to become pirates, Vakarian."

"I'm sure you can ask her when we find her," Garrus took his seat as well. "We'll be looking for her. Ward's Intel said someone matching her ID passed through the security checkpoint on the Citadel and had been there for about a week now."

Something didn't sit right. Shepard should have been communicating with him regarding this. Last they spoke, it had only been about holding a war summit with as many races and organizations she can pull together. And before then, he had received daily communications or messages, private or business.

Shepard was up to something. And she was up to something she didn't want him to know.

Spirits, it's like she didn't know what that did to him. He was an investigator a lifetime ago. A good mystery still got his gears running like nothing else besides.

He was sure his smile was full of teeth as he spoke. "I appreciate everyone's cooperation to keep what happened on Aeia between ourselves. Kindly continue to keep this from anyone, especially the Cerberus staff." The grins and nods he received made his smile wider. "We'll be docking at the Citadel, likely within the next two days GST. All of you deserve a few hours of R&R and half a day of shore leave. Kasumi—"

"Present!" She shimmered right beside him and it took every ounce of his self-control not to shriek like Tali did. "You called boss?"

"We will prepare for your party. Two birds one stone, as you humans say. Kindly bother Massani and tell him we need him for our side excursion. Zion," he turned to the older man. "Please accompany us in the Citadel as well."

"And for the rest," he glared at Tali and Grunt in particular. "Fix yourselves. If this were a turian Legion or Cabal I would have had you gutted by now."

"Heh. We'll see who guts whom, Vakarian." Grunt stood, chair scraping noisily. "We done here?"

"Yes, dismissed. Except," he fixed his stare at Tali who squeaked. "Stay on your seat, Tali. The rest, you may go."

* * *

Even when the room was empty save the two of them, Garrus didn't start anything immediately. Instead, he deliberately let a few minutes pass in silence before clearing his throat. Tali, expectedly, jumped out of her reverie.

"I know," she fiddled with her fingers and looked down at them. "I know I messed up. I know that if we were all less competent, that someone could have gotten seriously hurt or even died because I was—bumbling around, like an idiot."

He continued to look her, arms crossed.

Tali sighed. "I—I know, I have a problem." Her fingers balled into fists at that. "Lor warned me already, that I've become—dependent—that it could be irreversible. But I—" She hissed. "I can't stop thinking about what happened and I can't—"

Garrus leaned forward. The expanse of the briefing table split them apart, but it didn't stop the twinge he felt at her words. "Do you want to fix it?"

She nodded, yes.

"Do you want my help, Tali?"

A beat. But eventually, she looked at him, the white light reflected off her helmet and he couldn't see her face, but her nod was all he needed before he stood and motioned for her to follow.

Their trek was silent, even Chambers didn't say a word as they passed and merely smiled. Once they got on the lift, he pushed the up bottom to the only floor above the CIC.

Tali pushed herself to the corner of the elevator. "This is—"

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. He stepped out, holding the doors open and looked at her expectantly. She followed with small steps, fingers laced together in front of her as they stood in front of the doors to the Loft.

"You haven't been here since you've come onboard. In most ships, it would be rude not to greet the CO, right?" He looked back when he asked. Tali looked down at her feet. "He's been waiting for you. Do you want to see him?"

"I—" She snapped her head back up, and then looked down again. Only two beats, and she looked back at him and nodded.

Garrus answered her by hitting the panel. He was sure EDI had told Alenko they were coming up, and so he wouldn't catch the man or Cely, unaware.

Cely stood as the doors opened and they entered, Alenko was resting against the headrest, looking down at a holopad, likely a book as Cely had recommended him a few titles that sat by his bedside table. The man only looked up when they were in front of him, shooting Garrus a smile before turning to Tali and blinked.

Tali cleared her throat. "Commander, hello."

Alenko looked at Garrus, and then at Tali. "Tali," he smiled and placed the pad down on his lap. "Hello. It's nice of you two to come by. Have a seat." He waited for them to settle down, chairs pulled close. "What brings you two up here?"

"I have to give you your regular update. Especially since this last one was an Alliance request."

Alenko chuckled. "Garrus, I don't mind that you're running the ship for me. I've told you already."

"I'd like to put your mind at ease," Garrus leaned back against the chair. "That at the very least, you might want to try a ground mission one of these days."

Alenko blinked several times, his hand ran through his oily hair five times. "I—I dunno."

Cely walked closer to the side of the bed. "You've gained some stability, Commander. If you ever feel like it, a little exercise planetside might help a little. Provided that it's a non-critical quest?"

Garrus cleared his throat. "Ground missions have a tendency to go sideways, Cely. I can't really promise that, but," he tilted his head. "I'd like it if you can have Tali join up in your therapy sessions. Keep you company at least while she gets used to being in the Normandy again."

Tali flinched when the gazes turned to her. Cely smiled. "I don't mind at all. At the very least, the Commander can stop badgering me to play poker with him outside his sessions."

"You play a mean poker, Cely."

"I do." She nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing. "I really do but sometimes you should make time for solitaire." Cely turned to Tali and smiled. "He gets awfully cagey. You must know, after all, the exciting life you all used to lead."

"Ah, um, yes."

"It would be nice to have you around, Tali." Alenko reached out a hand to rest on her thigh. "If there's anyone who can help you through your problem, it's Cely."

"I didn't say—" Tali stopped herself. Sighing, she looked at Garrus who returned her stare with an encouraging nod. She placed her own hand over Alenko's and relaxed her shoulders with a deep breath. "Yes, thank you, Commander. I would really appreciate that."


	80. Interlude XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. As promised. Some interesting little bits here as to where I'd like the story to go from now on and a few references to former chapters. Enjoy!

**Interlude XIV: The New Keeper**

For all the talk about The Consort, Grizz thought his high expectations were only reasonably met.

Sha'ira seemed, for all intents and purposes, world weary, but she looked young for her years, maybe just two centuries into her matron stage and barely much older than Aria. Despite the grave atmosphere, her features were—small. Tiny nose, thin small lips, almond eyes. The only things that seemed big about her was her all-being atmosphere and her breasts. He wasn't into those as much, but eh. He'd also seen leggier blue-sisters in Chora's Den—what was left of it after the rebuilding— so a little lacking here and there but she was still The Consort. She probably had mind numbing techniques that made hanar denounce their Enkindlers in her name.

"You're not Rai Shepard," she announced with as little emotion as she could possibly show without sounding bitter. Which was a feat, as she seemed plenty bitter.

"Definitely not," he answered. "Couldn't possibly pull off the dress and heels she sports nowadays. But I like to think I'm reasonably easy on the eyes."

"Then I have no business with you," she smiled with narrowed eyes. "I want to speak to her in person."

He shrugged. "Okay." He stood from his seat. "I'll let her know you have nothing to talk about."

She blinked up at him. "What?"

Grizz shrugged again. "I'm not desperate for your help, Consort. I mean, I know my fair share of ancient asari and you're like—what—just a little bit above the volus rep in terms of influence? Maybe a little more if you've still got some strings to pull." He looked down at his talons, sighing. "But I hear you're running low on that department. The show must go on."

She looked at him, blinking. Not angry. Goddess forbid that an ancient asari throw her anger at someone like Grizz. But, there was something in the smile she shot him and the wave of her arm as she invited him to sit. Not something he could name at the moment but he would figure it out. "What do you know?"

Anxiety.

Hah, he figured that out as soon as he looked up from his talons and flashed her a smile she couldn't see through his mask. It's good he was awesomeness embodied. "I know that your support of the existence of Reapers has isolated you from your old contacts on Citadel space."

She leaned back against her chair. "I couldn't get behind the lies. Not when the truth was in front of all those who survived the attack on the Citadel."

"And that is admirable. Believe me when I say Shepard has recognized your efforts, however," he spoke above her concerns. "She couldn't come personally to see you. She is a busy woman and we are horridly undermanned." He tapped his talon against her desk for emphasis. "Thus, I've come as her proxy."

"But she'll see the Turian Councilor."

"They have history." He was sure he was over sharing a bit here. But as humans say, sometimes you need to give a bone or two to hide the real meat. He was also sure he had just took some part of human verbal history and threw it into the grinder. "Shepard is a  _drea_ , after all. They've met in common circles."

"I didn't think the Councilor would be involved with a ship parts smuggler," The Consort bit back, crinkle near the eyes and easy smile.

An actual smile with actual venom. Spirits, the asari was really a piece of work. He almost missed Aria at that moment, her scowl and shit-be-with-you attitude. How little she actually cared for you was actually genuine.

"Think what you like of Shepard, Consort." He shrugged. "Point is, she sent me here to assess your willingness to work together. But if that's not possible, we have other options."

"What could she possibly gain from all of this?"

"What could you possibly gain from supporting an estranged spouse?" He stood back up, with a nod her way. The understanding sparkled in her eyes. Everyone liked a good romance, after all. And whatever his statement actually meant didn't matter as much as the story unfolding behind her eyes. "Think about it and get back to us."

The acolytes led him out with polite smiles. And as soon as he was out of ear and eye shot, he let his shoulders sag and his lungs collapse from the breath he had been holding.

That was one thing off his list.

* * *

"I need you to look for a certain drell," Kandros, weeks and weeks ago, looked him square in the eye.

He shrugged. "I'm sure finding Mad shouldn't be too hard. He isn't very far from where Shepard is, for instance. And when he gets bored, he just looks for things to bleed out."

Kandros snapped her mandibles. Leaning forward, she laced her fingers together and placed them on the desk. "No, not Mad. I got in touch with Quarn, regarding Keiji's pet project." She regarded his wide eyed stare. "We have reason to believe that the entity known as Faltern has some connection to the League of One."

"Don't just blurt that name out loud!" He looked around the Vakarian study, as if any minute a shadow was going to swoop in and bring them to the Salarian Union and torture them for questioning. Stranger things have happened. "Spirits know how much the Vakarians have invested in this place to be bugged."

Her mandibles clicked together again. "I think I'm a little more careful than that. Had the placed scanned, and I'm using Shepard's latest software and then some—"

"I'm pretty sure the room isn't immune to some dude listening by the door," he huffed. "Furthermore, isn't this all a little covert of us? Shouldn't we let Legs know?"

Kandros nodded. "Yes, but I also don't want to give her false hope that we can find Lor. How crushed would she be if our intel was false? She'd be devastated."

Grizz closed his eyes to imagine the scene. Frankly, it was hard for him to imagine her being any less than badass. Even when all odds were against her, she'd be thinking up contingencies for her contingency. How can someone so prepared for the worst feel that affected by anything?

Then again, in his knapsack at the time he carried a crushing piece of evidence that the world was a shitty place. Shitty enough that people like Grundan could die so easily. Fuck. He already had the burden of delivering this, now he had to keep this Faltern thing from her too?

"Won't she peel our plates off when she finds out?"

"She will if you tell her prematurely."

"Premature? You're offensive, Kandros." She snapped her mandibles at his wide mouth smile. "Your dirty jokes aside, I honestly don't want to hide secrets from Legs, Kandros. I lose sleep, you see how waxen these plates look?"

"Which is why I need you to do this for us. Find Faltern. And when you find him, we need answers."

"You make it sound so easy."

Kandros sat back down behind her desk. "It should be your forte, shouldn't it? After all, there's no one who doesn't leave a trace, right?"

* * *

 

So, easy part done.

Afterwards, Grizz spent a good hour buying clothes (for Legs), armor and gun mods, some thermal clips. He bought suitcases for these, carried them like a good lackey should, and headed for the fountains near the presidium commons.

There was something about following the cookie crumb trail that really grabbed Grizz by the balls, in the most pleasurable way possible, mind. This particular trail stemmed as far back as his first year with Aria, same year he met Shepard. That interesting web of connections that you'd make when you were at least on speaking terms with someone as well connected as Shepard, and somehow, her friends like you enough to make some connections of their own.

As well as conspire together to make Shepard angry. Unintentionally, though, but she was still going to be very mad if she found out what they were doing.

He stopped his walk at a bench under the shade of a large tree. Behind him, a concrete stream flowed. The artificial sunlight and the programmed weather was temperate and light and hit the water enough to make it sparkle. Two seats away from him, someone sat, just as busy as he was with his omni-tool.

He sighed. "Alright," he spoke, seemingly to no one. "What dirty little secret are we keeping now?"

The person two benches beside him—turian with grey, black plates—barefaced but handsome by all accounts. Almost to the point of envy. Just about as handsome as Vakarian, but with the smooth way he rolled his shoulders and the way he sat up straight—he had all the poise Vakarian only had when he was holding a sniper rifle.

"Care for a little small talk first, old friend? It's fine weather."

"The weather here is always fine. It makes my plates itch," Grizz grumbled. "Only sadists program rain in a place where it isn't necessary."

The other turian laughed. Even his laugh was handsome. "Ah, your honesty is always refreshing. It's been a long time, Grizz. How are things?"

"Been all right," he scratched the back of his neck. "You could be a little bit easy on a brother, Quarn. I may not have known Shepard as long as you but I still know that if we're caught she will not be happy."

Quarn straightened his tunic and crossed his spurs together. A pair of asari looked their way, eyes smoldering and they giggled as they passed. Quarn didn't seem to notice. "You can blame it all on me. And Kandros."

Grizz clicked his mandible together in Kandros' honor. Lifting his arm, he fired up the tool UI. "I found the information relevant to her request. Forwarded an encrypted copy to everyone whose finger is dipped in this. But the file I'm going to send you is more straightforward."

Quarn raised his own omni-tool, eyes on the screen as the message made it to him. "Your expertise is appreciated, Grizz. Likely, we'll be able to track the man with this." He rested his elbows against his thighs as he drew his feet under the bench. Eyes forward. "Where is Shepard now?"

"Getting into heaps of trouble none of you would approve of. But we high fived on it and thought it was our best bet to give Mad a little scare."

Quarn hummed under his breath. "Is she going to kill him?"

"Who knows? If she does, who can blame her?"

"Right," Quarn said. "It must be hard for her then. He is her oldest friend."

In the distance, Grizz heard a human child's delighted squeal and the sound of small feet running. They were probably close enough to a condominium park. Putting his weight on his hands, he looked up at the leaves, past the shade and into the programmed sun above them.

"This Vakarian—Garrus, was it?" Quarn suddenly began. "What is he like?"

A curious question. A breach of privacy besides. Grizz doubted Shepard revealed any relationship of the sort, enough to make Quarn curious anyway. Surlo, maybe? She had mentioned that the Crow had helped her get into east side NY. But if she didn't want Quarn to know, she would have been more careful.

Obviously, she wasn't being that careful. So, she wanted Quarn to know.

Grizz chuckled. "Isn't this the type of thing you would like to discern for yourself?"

"You're a good judge of character. I'll take your word for it."

Grizzed hummed, hands tapping against the metal of the bench they were sitting on. More distant laughter, some well-timed vents opened up to give them some breeze. Spirits, he really did hate simulated weather control. "Well, he's just about as handsome as any Cipritine-blooded high ranked turian this side of the galaxy—"

"By turian standards or by yours—"

"By turian standards. I mean, put you two side by side and you'd make a pretty good cover of a Fornax—"

"Delicate as always, Grizz—"

"I do try, Quarn." They both shared a grin. Grizz cleared his throat. "So, anyway, he's got the looks. You may have seen a picture of him somewhere from when the Citadel was under attack and they were giving all these awards—or you're totally pretending like you didn't—"

"I did. But pictures aren't enough—"

"Yeah, yeah. Excuses. But the guy's character?" Grizz actually had to pause and think about that. A hum under his breath in thought. "He isn't crazy—probably."

"Probably," Quarn's deadpanned flang was just as telling as his outright scoff. "You? Unsure about someone's character? You, who can tell a person's psyche by the way they hold a glass?"

"Spirits, you're right. I am amazing." The glare sent his way was priceless. "But seriously? Haven't really spoken to the guy. Saw him a handful of times in Omega, back when he was shooting down baddies for the sheer joy of it—don't look at me, if I wanted to feel joy I'd just find a leggy badass and watch her walk away from me—but yeah. Didn't talk to the guy. Never really bothered to look any deeper. He isn't as leggy as you are besides."

Quarn folded his legs underneath the bench at that, giving Grizz smiling eyes but with a rumble under his breath that told him he was both a little bit flattered and a little bit disturbed. Grizz tipped his head back and laughed out loud. These gentlemanly type guys were always too easy to tease.

"Verdict," he began again. "He's probably nice. When has Shepard ever gotten together with someone who wasn't nice?"

"Amadeus."

"To be fair, they've only slept together a couple of times and never really got together."

"Hmm."

"I thought you would defend yourself by saying she's been with you."

Quarn tilted his head. The edge of his teeth clearly sharp even under the shade. "I am, definitely, not nice."

Oh. If he was into Quarn's sort of badass he would have jumped this man by now. Dicks did nothing for him (debatable) but plates were also as meh as breasts.

Grizz cleared his throat. "Alright," he grabbed his suitcases. "Time for me to dash on out of here. Don't want the cameras to notice us talking too intimately. Keep in touch, Quarn."

"If you plan on sticking with Shepard for the time being, then we'll see each other again." He gave him a nod and a smile before looking back at his omni-tool like they had just met and struck a conversation by chance.

He was probably imagining it, but the suitcases felt heavier than they did as he walked away.

* * *

Grizz hated not telling Shepard the truth.

It ate at him as quickly and as painfully as polonium poison ate through flesh. It affected him more than his libido, more than the no face ritual that stripped him of his birthright and inheritance.

So it hit him, hard and mercilessly, when he went up to the hotel room they were sharing in the Presidium and found it invaded by C-Sec pigs with their omni-tools up—scanning through clothes, personal effects, the half empty glass of water, the broken glass table by the entrance, and the lipstick stain on the carpet.

He scrambled to remember if this was part of the plan—this sacrilege—of the space they made to conspire against the world. As he made his own scan of the room, reading all the signs she left behind—Grizz knew well enough that he had been outplayed on this one and a large chunk of the truth had been withheld from him so that the panic in his eyes as he talked to Bailey would seem as real and the gruff tone of his voice could only be interpreted as guilt.

So he waited. He sat on the chair and stared at the filled-up ashtray, mask on the table, only half listening to Bailey's request to give them more information if anything comes up. It was well over an hour before they finally leave the place, taking the noise and taint with them.

Grizz cursed a storm at how typically slow the pigs were, running to the closet and chose from the near dozen pair of high heels there and crammed his favorite one into his suitcase. Running back to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door, scanned the contents and found four bottles of water. He emptied all the water until he heard something clank and fall into the sink. Cipritine glass turned clear in water, and he lifted the necklace with their pendants in the light. He clasped it around his neck and went to the carpet, lipstick stain and all. He hopped in place, smirked at the hollow sound, and felt around the floor for where—ah, there, he pulled the precise cut Shepard made through the carpet, ripped it off despite the fresh adhesive and pulled out the loose panel to reveal Cae.

Beautiful sword, Cae was. She didn't belong under the ground and when he took her in his hands he felt an almost—reverent fervor for it.

"It's made from the stone of Gaiam mountain and Kahje steel," Legs told him in between her maintenance session. "You have to be careful about how you handle this sort of smithery. It's laced in eezo and the blood of its owner."

He cackled. "What? You combine blood and space magic and suddenly you've a cursed item. That's pretty archaic."

Legs smiled. "The metal of Rite weapons are inherited. Before she became mine, she was called by another name and was owned by another master." She look down at the blade, smile on her face. "They can only be remade by the  _Asae_ , the Bastions."

"Are you a Bastion?"

She shook her head, no. "It's very likely that the art could die with Lor." She sheathed the blade, held it in both her hands. "Once we've lost all the  _Agael_ , the true masters—the League will be but a line in someone's omni-tool. A fragment of data of no particular importance." She ran her naked hand over the sheath, the wiry ugly scars he'd seen only the first time that day. They made his stomach turn. "All that will be left us are stone and steel."

"Legs," he started and couldn't stop. "Is it so hard to swallow the idea that you're real?"

She looked up at him, silent and perfectly still. She didn't say anything, didn't really need to. Instead, she held up her sword between them, inviting him to hold it. And so he grabbed on, tight and shaky.

Closing his eyes, he sealed the memory of her in his mind, as solid and as real as the sword in his grasp.


End file.
